Panic
by Moonsway
Summary: A short story about what might have happened when Sherlock hid out at Molly's place after the fall. No longer a oneshot.
1. Chapter 1

Panic

Molly spoke Sherlock's name as she awoke from a vivid dream about him. Her pulse was still racing, and the sensation of his imaginary touch still lingered on her skin. She'd had dreams about him before, but none of them had been as intimate and detailed as this one. It was probably due to the fact that he now sometimes spent the night in her flat, or her bed to be exact. He wasn't here at the moment, since she would be in the spare bedroom if he was. A glance at her alarm clock revealed that it was only two in the morning, yet she felt wide awake and wasn't sure if she'd be able to fall back asleep. She felt like she needed a shower, even though she'd taken one before going to bed. It would cool her off and refresh her, but it would also probably wash away any remaining hope she had of getting anymore sleep tonight.

She decided to go get something cold to drink instead. The first thing she noticed when she opened her bedroom door was that the lights were on. The next thing she noticed was that Sherlock was standing a short distance away from her. Her mouth went dry, and she desperately needed that drink now. She hurried to the kitchen without saying a word to him. He followed her and watched her quickly gulp down half a glass of water.

Molly avoided looking at him. "When did you get in?" She had given him a key in case he needed to enter her flat when she wasn't home. It was one of the few places in the city where he could hide while everyone thought he was dead.

"About an hour ago. I wasn't going to wake you, and I would have slept in the other bedroom."

A small smile played over her lips at his assumption that she would give up her bed to him in the middle of the night. The man never changed. He took, and she gave. Yet their relationship had undergone a radical change after he asked her to help him fake his death. They had a friendship of sorts, and he had shown a gentle regard in his attitude toward her. She was content with the new bond they had, and she had given up on wanting something romantic from him. Judging from her latest dream, her subconscious mind was slow to get this memo. Well, there was no harm in indulging herself in her dreams if she couldn't in her waking life.

"You're still aroused," Sherlock noted. "Didn't you climax?"

Her heart nearly stopped beating before feeling like it was going to explode out of her chest. Without her permission, her wide-eyed gaze flew to his face to see him studying her intently.

"I thought at first that you had someone with you," he continued when she didn't answer. "Then I heard you call out my name and realized that you were masturbating."

Molly had thought that she couldn't feel more mortified than when he had embarrassed her at his Christmas party. His apology was the only thing that had prevented it from being her worst Christmas ever. The way the night had ended with him identifying that naked woman in the morgue had put the final nail in the coffin for her foolish hopes that he would ever be romantically interested in her. Until then she had consoled herself with knowing that he didn't have a girlfriend, so she had as much of a chance with him as any other woman. The realization that he might have a secret sex life that nobody knew about had shocked her and destroyed her confidence in being able to attract him. Even without knowing what the woman's face had looked like before her violent death, Molly could tell that she had been beautiful.

"I wasn't mas—" Molly trailed off, unable to speak the word.

"You're turning scarlet," he observed. "There's no sense in being embarrassed about it. It's a normal way to relieve sexual frustration, but women seem to be ashamed of it for some reason. I…uh, someone told me that many of them also have trouble letting themselves go enough to climax."

"I wasn't mas—" She again tried and failed to say the word. "It was a dream. I was having a dream." Telling him that was now the least embarrassing option for her.

"You were having a dream about me? What was I doing to you to make you moan like that?"

She had been moaning too? Why did he always have to be around to notice all her most embarrassing moments? She had finally earned some respect from him, and now she was back to feeling ridiculous in front of him. Of course, a normal person would have never mentioned overhearing her in the first place.

"I don't remember," she lied. "Well, goodnight." She set the glass down on the countertop and turned to see that he had stepped closer to her.

"But you haven't climaxed," he protested. "Do you want me to help you?"

"Help me?" Molly squeaked. She nervously wet her lips.

"Licking your lips suggests that you want me to kiss you," he said. "It won't make you climax, but it will help you let go of your inhibitions enough to allow me to touch you in the right place to facilitate an orgasm."

His deep, masculine voice had always had a powerful effect on her, but now it was positively hypnotic. As she stared into his blue eyes, she was vaguely aware that there was something different about them tonight. Just before he kissed her, she realized what it was. They were slightly darker than usual, presumably with passion. Molly also knew the signs of arousal, but she could scarcely believe that she was the cause of his.

She used to wonder what it would be like to kiss Sherlock, and she had even dreamed about it many times. Molly had discovered that few things in life were as good as she had imagined them to be, but this was one of the rare things that surpassed her imagination. She became completely lost in it, and nothing else mattered to her in that moment.

He eventually moved from her mouth to her throat as his hand trailed down her body. She was wearing no underwear, and there was nothing to impede his contact with her skin once he slid his hand beneath her short nightgown. Molly gasped when she felt him touch her the way he had in her dream.

"Ah, Molly." His voice was a deep rumble against her neck. "You're so very aroused."

She expected to go up in flames at any moment. It would be a curious case of spontaneous human combustion with Sherlock as the only witness. Would he deduce that he had ignited the spark that doomed her?

Oddly enough it was her own voice that jolted her out of her erotic trance. Her solitary moan as his fingers began to stroke her sounded loud and jarring to her ears, and she was self-conscious again.

Molly broke contact with him as she backed away. "Why are you doing this? You never showed any interest before."

He smiled at her. As cold as he could sometimes be, he had an amazingly warm smile. "I want to thank you."

"Thank me," she repeated dully.

"Yes," he confirmed. "You've done so much for me, and now I can do something for you."

Her heart plummeted in disappointment. "Thanks, but I can manage it myself."

He looked rather disappointed himself. "Are you sure? Because I can—"

To her horror, she felt her eyes well with tears. Molly lowered her head as she swept past him, praying that he wouldn't notice. She needed to keep at least a shred of dignity. "I'm sure. Goodnight."

She hurried into the spare bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her. Then she looked at the empty bed and began to quietly weep. The last thing she wanted was for Sherlock to hear her crying over him. This is the last time, she promised herself. She was going to get over him and move on with her life.

**Notes:**

**Sorry if I didn't get the tone of the characters right. I'm new to this show, and I'm not completely up to date on it. I read spoilers though, because I just couldn't wait to find out what happens next. Sherlock is my new favorite show, and Sherlock and Molly are my new favorite ship. I can't deny that his chemistry with Irene is scorching hot, but I identify with Molly. I've used the dream thing before, but not in this fandom. What a voice that man has! I don't even have to look at him. That voice alone…**

**All I can say is wow! Anyway, sorry for rambling on. Thank you to anyone who reads this story.**


	2. Wedding Jitters

Wedding Jitters

What had possessed her to say that? Molly continued to smile, because she was in for a penny in for a pound. She had merely shared her happiness by speaking the truth. It had nothing to do with driving home the point that she was sexually satisfied without his help. Sherlock looked neither shocked nor embarrassed by her statement, only perplexed as to why she had chosen to inform him that she and Tom were having lots of sex. She was secretly relieved when he changed the subject.

Maybe she had taken her friend status with Sherlock too far by oversharing her personal life, but the whole point was that she was no longer intimidated by him. Molly had hated feeling like an awkward adolescent around him. She wasn't that way with any other man, but he wasn't like any other man she knew. Guys either asked her out or became friends with her. Sherlock had done neither, not for the longest time. Her infatuation with him, however, had begun on the first day she met him. He had entered the lab the way he always did, like he owned it. His haughty demeanor as he went about his business made it appear that Molly was too insignificant for him to even notice her existence—until he started barking out orders at her.

She didn't know who he was, but his bossy attitude irked her. "Hello, I'm Molly Hooper. It's lovely to meet you."

Either he failed to notice the sarcasm in her voice or chose to ignore it. "Sherlock Holmes. Where is the auramine I asked for?"

He didn't bother saying thank you when she handed it to him, causing her to drop all pretense of politeness when he then demanded that she fetch him another item. "Don't mention it, really. It's not like I have anything better to do than assist you in whatever you're doing here."

"An experiment. As you did an excellent job on that autopsy, and you've apparently organized the lab properly for once, I do think you haven't anything better to do at the moment. Anyway, I prefer your assistance to the bumbling of that idiot Thompson."

Molly was inexplicably pleased by his praise, but she took issue at him calling her predecessor an idiot. "Mr. Thompson passed away recently."

Sherlock didn't even look up from what he was working on at this sad news. "Heart attack?"

"Yes," she answered in surprise. "How did you know?"

"He was overweight but refused to change his diet. Quite a sloppy eater too. The corners of his mouth were always stained with the food he'd consumed. He never met a calorie laden sauce he didn't like, and he never skipped a meal no matter how urgent the need for his services."

"That's not true," she argued. "I'm told he satisfactorily completed all of his work. Everyone liked him."

"Liked him," he snorted. "What does that have to do with his work? Satisfactory is another word for mediocre. He didn't put in the effort required to excel at his job. His lab was in disarray, and he cared nothing for furthering his knowledge through experiments. It seems that the candidates for the job were considered more carefully this time. You're a vast improvement over Thompson."

Molly had made a few simple changes in the way the lab was organized, but she had hardly found it in disarray. "You don't know anything about me."

He then proceeded to astound her with his eerily accurate assessment of her. Molly gaped at him while he finished his experiment in silence. He removed his gloves and threw them in the trash before finding a pen and writing something down on a piece of paper. Only then did he finally look directly at her as he handed it to her. "Call me when you get a burn victim."

She accepted the piece of paper from him in a daze while she struggled to pinpoint whether his eyes were blue or green. Molly still hadn't succeeded in deciding before he left without saying goodbye, leaving her to clean up after him and his experiment. She looked down at the paper in her hand and saw a phone number.

Maybe he was like any other man, she thought for the first and only time during her acquaintance with him. Perhaps he just had a different approach to asking her out, feigning indifference to her but dropping a hint of his interest at the last minute. He had given her his phone number after all. She talked it over with her friends, and they advised her to play hard to get in return. Even so, she almost called him several times during the next few weeks but chickened out each time right before pressing the last digit. In the meantime, she got her hair cut in a short, chic style. Then one day she had to stop herself from squealing in excitement when a scorched body was delivered to the morgue. She immediately recognized his deep, smooth voice on the phone.

"Wait for me," he said.

The thought came unbidden into her mind. Her accelerated heartbeat when he entered the room confirmed it. She _had_ been waiting for him. Sherlock barely glanced at her, but his eyes lit up when he saw the corpse.

"Beautiful," he exclaimed.

Molly stopped him before he could make the incision. "No, I do the autopsy."

Sherlock watched her as she performed her job. Despite her nervous excitement at having him there, her hands were steady. Molly's focus on her work was ingrained from her school days. She had always been a good student, and she was as dedicated to her job as she had been to her studies.

"Superior to Thompson in every way," he complimented her when she finished the autopsy. "Your haircut makes you look like an adolescent boy," he told her in the next breath.

So she grew her hair out, but it made no difference. He would dole out the occasional compliment only to ruin it by coldly tearing her down afterwards. The worst part of the whole thing was that her crush on him continued to grow stronger over the years. He was arrogant and critical of everyone, but he was brilliant. He often angered and upset her, but he never bored her. Molly was inescapably drawn to him even as she seemed to repel him. Then had come the extraordinary day when he'd told her that she mattered and openly asked her for help.

The intimacy of living together in secret after he faked his death had intensified her feelings for him. She could no longer deny that after he tried to "thank" her. Molly was so glad now that she hadn't given into temptation that night. His already overinflated ego didn't need to be inflated even more. The nerve of him to think that she needed his help to attain orgasm! Her anger had quickly flared after she cried herself out. She was mad at him and irritable from lack of sleep as she got ready for work that morning. The noise she made while she clattered around in the kitchen should have woken him, but his bedroom door—_her_ bedroom door, damn it!—remained closed. She slammed the door to her flat closed on her way out for good measure.

He wasn't there when she returned home from work, but she noticed that he had gone through her things. Why had he been riffling through her underwear drawer? That question was answered a several days later when she found a package waiting for her on her kitchen table. It contained a vibrator. There were printed instructions along with a note beneath the box. Relieve your sexual frustration, it read, before you take your door off its hinges.

Molly had flung the vibrator unto the floor and let loose with a string of curses. Her fury only increased when she discovered that Sherlock had used her credit card to order the damn thing. She could laugh about it now, but she had been livid at the time and hadn't slept at all that night while she waited to confront him. He denied her that opportunity, because she didn't see him again for nearly two years. Her anger had subsided by that time, of course, and she was glad to see him. They spent a bittersweet day together while she filled in for John. At least it was bittersweet for her. She had often wished that she could solve crimes with him, but she could tell that he missed John terribly. Then another fantasy of hers had come true when he asked her out to dinner, but the circumstances were again all wrong. He had congratulated her on her engagement and said the loveliest things before kissing her on the cheek.

She had noticed sadness in him before, but it seemed amplified now. Molly thought it was because everyone had someone but he remained alone. It was especially strong at John's wedding despite his grandstanding, and she was sure that her sympathy for him was what kept her from being able to completely enjoy herself. She was experiencing sympathy sadness, and that was the reason she begged off sex with Tom that night, claiming she had a headache. Molly made it up to him the next morning, and she was in an orgasm induced good mood until he suggested that they should set a date for their own wedding.

She had been so excited to finally get engaged, so she should have been thrilled to start planning her wedding. As she began to shop for dresses, however, she had to admit to herself that her heart wasn't in it. She couldn't blame it on wedding jitters, because they were still in the early stages of planning it and had yet to decide on a location for the reception. Molly didn't want to wait until the invitations were sent before she backed out of the wedding. Because she was going to back out of it. She realized this when the only thing she felt was panic as the saleslady told her how lovely she looked in this particular dress. Molly smiled weakly at the woman and replied that she would come back another day.

She changed back into her own clothes and fled the shop. At least no other people were involved in the wedding preparations yet. All she would have to do was return the engagement ring to Tom. Telling him turned out to be just like any other unpleasant task she'd had to deal with in her life. The worst thing about it was that he didn't understand why, and she didn't have a good answer for him.

"I just can't get married," she repeated.

"Why?" Tom asked again. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," she insisted. "I can't get married. It's just not for me."

He was becoming frustrated with her now. "Then why did you say yes when I proposed to you?"

"Because things were different then," she blurted. "I mean, I thought it was what I wanted, but I was mistaken."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously at her. "What was different? Have you met someone else? Is that why you don't want to marry me anymore?"

"No," she denied, but he didn't look convinced. "I was trying on a dress today, and I felt scared. Finding the perfect dress is supposed to be the most exciting part for the bride, but I wasn't excited. I was scared."

His expression softened. "That's just cold feet."

"It's not," she stated sadly. "It's more than that. I can't get married, Tom. I just can't."

In the end he had no choice but to accept the ring that she refused to wear any longer. She felt empty rather than heartbroken when it was done. Molly had dreamed of her wedding day just like any other little girl. When had it ceased to be her dream? She walked around on autopilot for a few days after her break up, not really feeling anything. No one had done anything wrong. It just hadn't worked out between them. Tom was a nice guy, and she considered herself a nice person. No one was to blame, but her mind must have been searching for someone to blame.

Sherlock, she decided irrationally. Sherlock had infected her with his dismal views on marriage. She had been happy with Tom until Sherlock had come back and ruined everything. He had even singled out her fiancé for ridicule at John's wedding. Molly remembered the condescending look on Sherlock's face when Tom had presented his absurd theory about the meat dagger. Not that she cared about Sherlock's opinion of her fiancé, because she didn't. Tom may not have been brilliant, but he had a lot of other good qualities that Sherlock lacked. And why the hell was she comparing Tom to Sherlock?

Her anger began to simmer this time instead of boiling over. He had better stay away for awhile, she thought. Sherlock Holmes better keep his distance from Molly Hooper if he knew what was good for him.

**Notes:**

**Only one more episode left. I don't know where I'll go with this story without the safety net of the show, but I've decided to continue with it. Now I can properly thank the guests who reviewed. Thank you for encouraging me to write a sequel. I hope that adding more chapters to this story is okay with you. I apologize for any mistakes I may have made in writing the lab scenes. All I know about working in a morgue is what I've seen on TV. **


	3. Boiling Point

Boiling Point

Molly had overlooked his rudeness to her and other people. She had allowed him to manipulate her out of her lunch breaks and out of her own bed. He had hurt her feelings and trampled on her heart. She had forgiven him for everything, but this offense she would not abide. Her hand shot out to slap him repeatedly.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with," she demanded furiously. "And how dare you betray the love of your friends. Say you're sorry."

Instead of apologizing for polluting his extraordinary brain with drugs, he told her that he was sorry that her engagement was over and grateful that she wasn't wearing her ring when she hit him. "Stop it," she said. "Just stop it."

John then intervened and took him to task for not calling him for help. Molly stared at Sherlock incredulously when he claimed that he had done it for a case. In his incredible conceit, he thought that he could go to any lengths and come out unscathed while solving crimes. She had thought that the danger was over when Moriarty died, and that she had dealt with the worst of it while helping Sherlock fake his death. Yet things now went from bad to worse when he was shot. Molly couldn't face him in front of John and Mary. She didn't want anyone to see the toll this ordeal had taken on her, so she used her hospital access to visit him at night while he was asleep. He never even knew that she was there, and she was glad of that. He had told her that she did matter, but she imagined that he had been talking about her usefulness to him.

She didn't want him to know how much he mattered to her, especially after she read the tabloid stories about him and Janine. The girl was attractive, and Sherlock was a single man. It should have been no surprise to Molly that he would want to have sex with a pretty woman. Had she really expected him to stay celibate his whole life? And why would it bother her so much if she was truly over him? The answer, of course, was that she wasn't over him at all. She could plainly see that now that she didn't have Tom to distract her anymore. All the progress she thought she had made in her romantic life had been an illusion. She was right back where she had started, still stuck in limbo with Sherlock.

Molly wanted a man who would never want her. She loved a man who would never love her in return. There was no doubt in her mind that she was right about this, yet it wasn't enough to kill her hope entirely. She would remember how he had looked at her when he told her that he needed her. He hadn't meant it in a romantic way, but her heart refused to give up on him. Now she needed something from Sherlock. She needed him to finish it. He had shown her a kinder, gentler side lately, but she needed him to be brutally honest with her now. She had realized that he knew about her crush on him and had used it to his advantage in the past. This was much more than a crush, though, and she was going to explain to him how strong her feelings for him really were. Then he was going to reject her, and she was finally going to be confronted with the fact that it was hopeless. That was the only way that she could free herself from him. He would probably start to avoid her after this, which would be the best thing for her in the long run.

Sherlock disappeared from the hospital while Molly was working up the nerve to talk to him. Of all the stubborn, idiotic things to do! He was still seriously injured, but he had decided to just take off without consulting his doctor or telling anyone where he was going. She might kill him herself if he didn't die on his own.

Finally, Mrs. Hudson called to let her know that Sherlock had been found and was on his way to the hospital. Molly was grateful for the call but surprised that John or Mary hadn't been the ones to call her. Mrs. Hudson was oddly constrained in her replies to Molly's questions. She was usually so talkative, but she now gave short answers that didn't reveal much.

"Does John know that he's been found?" Molly asked.

"Yes, he was here too."

Mrs. Hudson must be tired, Molly thought. She had probably been worried sick about Sherlock just like Molly. "Thanks for calling me. We can all sleep better now that we know he's okay."

"Yes. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Molly said. The poor woman must still be upset, and no wonder after everything that Sherlock had put her through when he faked his death. After all that drama and heartache, he should be more considerate of his friends to make up for all the damage he had done. She would have a word with him about that first.

It gave her the perfect excuse to talk to him, because it would be too awkward to just jump into the conversation about her feelings. She waited until the following day, which was fortunately a Saturday and one of her days off. Sherlock happened to be alone when she went to visit him.

"Hello, Molly. Have you come to hit me again?"

Her lips quirked into a smile. "I should. What were you thinking leaving the hospital in your condition?"

"I was working on a case," he answered as if that were a reasonable explanation.

"A case," she repeated in exasperation. "Do you understand how serious your injury is? You nearly died."

"I know that," he replied in annoyance. "I'm the one who was shot, so I'm very aware of the extent of the injury. If this were one of our usual cases, I could have waited until I was fully recovered. It is, however, too important to delay taking immediate action."

"More important than your life?" Molly asked. "Because as much as you think you're invincible, you're not."

"Of course I know I'm not invincible," he stated crossly.

"Do you?" Molly threw back at him. "You think you can shoot yourself up with drugs and not suffer the consequences. Sherlock Holmes can leave the hospital and wander the streets when he shouldn't even stand up by himself. All for your precious case. What about the people who care about you? Do you know how upset Mrs. Hudson was last night? She didn't even sound like herself. And what about John? How can you worry them like that after the hell you put them through when they thought that you were dead?"

"John understands how important this is. He's helping me with the case."

"Then let me help too," she pleaded. "John and I can do the legwork for you while your body heals."

The expression on his face was one that she had never seen before. "You are not to go anywhere near this case," he told her urgently. "Is that understood?"

"But I helped you with Moriarty," she began to protest.

"This is different. You have no idea what kind of person we're dealing with. Just the thought of you being in the same room with that repulsive snake turns my stomach."

What was she to make of that? It sounded almost possessive, like something a boyfriend might say. This was her opening then, and she took it to steer the conversation in the direction it needed to go. "Why? What does it matter what I do? Why does it matter to you?"

"I've already told you that you matter to me. And I can see your point," he acknowledged. "Your safety is important to me, as mine is to you. But do as I say, not as I do." He smiled wryly at her as he joked about the situation.

Molly was too nervous to smile back. "That's a valid point, but it's not really what I was getting at." She took a breath to steady herself before she plunged on. "I need to tell you how I feel about you."

Now he looked uncomfortable. "I realize that you're lonely after the end of your engagement. Perhaps my brush with death has stirred up some old feelings, but your outlook will change. You'll meet someone else. You always do."

"I broke off my engagement because of you," she told him calmly. Now that she had begun, it was just like doing an autopsy. A life had ended, and she had to determine the cause of death. It was grim work, but she was up to the task. Now she was doing an autopsy on her heart, maybe even on Sherlock's heart, to find out what went wrong.

"So you've come to put the blame on me when you should be congratulating yourself on your wise decision. Tom was not a good match for you."

"Why not?" Molly asked in frustration. This was something that she hadn't been able to explain to herself. There had seemingly been no reason at all for her to break up with her fiancé.

"Because lots of sex cannot sustain a relationship, no matter how fantastic it is. Believe me, I know. A woman of your intelligence needs a man who can also engage her mind."

Her composure slipped. Hell, it took a nosedive as she tried to control her scattered thoughts and regain her focus. "Is that why you broke up with Janine?" Nope, she was off on a tangent for sure.

"I didn't have sex with Janine. She was necessary for the case, but I wouldn't use her that way. Despite what you may think of me, I do have a limit to how far I'll go to win. I know that people attach significance to sex, and I don't want those kinds of complications in my life."

Later on she would contemplate everything he had said. At this moment, however, her mind had pounced on that first sentence and was replaying it at lightning speed. I didn't have sex with Janine…I didn't have sex with Janine. "Right. So…yeah, you know about my feelings for you."

"Your infatuation," he confirmed. "I admit I've exploited it in the past."

She took another breath, quite shaky this time. "It's more than an infatuation."

"You're also sexually attracted to me."

How matter of factly he stated that, she marveled. He was in control, and she was flustered. It reminded her of the incident in her kitchen, and she didn't need to be thinking of that right now. Unfortunately, her brain was apparently no longer controlling her vocal chords. "Are you attracted to me?"

There was a long pause before he replied. "What do you want from me, Molly?"

"I want to know how you feel. About me. I need to know, because the truth is…" She forced herself not to look away, because she needed to read his expression when she told him. "The truth is that I'm in love with you."

She was staring right at him, but she somehow failed to decipher his expression while their gazes were locked. Molly didn't realize that she had been holding her breath until he expelled his. "I'm fond of you, Molly. You matter to me a great deal, but I can't return your feelings. Love is a weakness I can't afford. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," she assured him. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"Molly—"

She smiled brightly. "Really, I'm okay."

"No," he said. "You're crying again."

Since he had already seen them, she allowed the tears to spill over. "Again?" She didn't recall crying in front of him before.

"You cried the first night you came to visit me. I wasn't awake the other times, but I knew that you had been here. The scent of your perfume was still in my room," he explained.

"Tom bought it for me." Molly wasn't sure why she was lying about that. "It's his favorite perfume."

"That was a lucky coincidence, or perhaps it was part of what attracted him you," he mused. "It's the same perfume you've been wearing since the first day I met you."

There it was, the reason he could make her feel special even though she knew that he noticed these things about other people too. He paid attention to every detail about her, and it tricked her mind into thinking that he was interested in her. It was no more than a reflex action to him, though, just his highly honed observational skills picking up information for his brain to process. There was no emotion involved in it. He remained an unaffected observer while she had fallen in love with him.

Molly knew that she now had to distance herself emotionally from Sherlock. "I'm glad you're okay. Try not to put yourself in anymore danger. The shooter is still out there."

He dismissed her concern. "That's no longer a problem. I will stay put this time until I'm discharged. The case now requires careful planning."

"What do you mean he's no longer a problem?" Molly questioned. "Do you know who the shooter is?"

"That's unimportant at this stage in the game," he said.

"It's not a game! You were nearly killed, Sherlock. Let me tell you what's not on your charts. The surgeon was ready to call time of death, because you flatlined. You flatlined, and they were unable to resuscitate you. That's why I was crying the first night, because you were dead and you could have stayed dead."

He surprised her by smiling at her outburst. "You wouldn't let me die, Molly. You told me how to survive the bullet wound, which way to fall. I'm thankful you were there to help, even though you hit me again."

She was beginning to wonder if the morphine had muddled his thoughts when he noticed her confusion and explained about his mind palace. "You see how you matter to me, Molly? You always matter."

Someday she would be content with that the way that Sherlock was content with it.

**Notes:**

**That was the last episode. From here on out I'll be on my own since it'll probably be two years until the next season. Thank you to the guests who reviewed and for your encouragement to keep writing the story.**


	4. Scorned

Scorned

Sherlock had only confirmed what she already knew, so it shouldn't have hit her as hard as it did. Molly spent the rest of the weekend alone in her apartment without even answering her phone, except to talk to her mother. She couldn't avoid her mother's calls or the woman would panic and come looking for her daughter. Her mom didn't think it was safe for her to live alone. Molly suspected that was her main reason for desperately wanting to see her daughter married off. She was upset about Molly's broken engagement, and Molly had lied and told her that Tom had been the one to end things. It was easier than trying to explain why she had let go of a decent man who had wanted a future with her. Had Tom been as depressed after their break up as she was after being rejected by Sherlock? She hadn't really thought about it until now.

Had she actually harbored such a strong secret hope that Sherlock would be won over by her confession of love? She should have known better. Her mind _had_ known better, but her heart had refused to accept it. The death of hope was as painful as any other death. Now she was grieving for what might have been but never would. Unlike Sherlock, she wasn't content to live her life without love. She wanted to get married and have children, and she wouldn't let her next opportunity slip away. To be fair to her future fiancé, she first had to completely let go of her love for Sherlock. Her hope was already gone—hence the depression—but her heart still ached with love for him. She was naturally an optimistic person, which was why she was able to keep a positive attitude despite the somber realities of her job. That was why she knew that she would get past this and make a new life for herself. She'd already done it once before after the death of her father. Molly loved her mother too, but her father had been the one she looked up to and strived to impress. Praise from him was the best thing in the world to her, because it was so rare.

At least Sherlock was still alive. She considered herself lucky to be one of his close acquaintances despite the emotional turmoil it had caused her. He had said that he was fond of her, and her own feelings would change over time until she was fond of him too. She would fall in love with someone else. Then Sherlock would hold his proper place in her heart as a dear friend. She could even vaguely picture a distant future like that with Sherlock being like an odd uncle to John's children and Molly's children. What she couldn't imagine was a future without Sherlock in her life. Right now, however, she needed to keep her distance from him. Since he had been emphatic about wanting her to stay away from his latest case, he was unlikely to ask her for help with it. That would give her the time she needed to get everything straight in her mind. She wouldn't be completely over him by the next time she saw him, but she would be past the break up blues. Molly was now grateful that they had never dated. She didn't know how she would have been able to handle the end of an actual romantic relationship with him.

She decided to take a break from dating too. There was no sense in starting a new relationship until her love for Sherlock faded, and that would take time. She was going to focus on her work and her friendships in the meantime. Molly went to visit John and Mary the following weekend and was shocked to discover that John had moved out.

"It's not official," Mary informed her. "He hasn't asked for a divorce, not yet at least."

"What happened?" Molly asked the awkward question hesitantly, knowing that Mary was extremely upset despite her steely demeanor. She was a lot like Sherlock in that way, Molly suddenly realized.

"I can't tell you that," Mary said. "It's just too complicated to go into. Too many people are already involved in it as it is."

Her mentioning other people made Molly wonder if infidelity was the cause of this distressful situation. "Where is John living now?"

"He moved back in with Sherlock."

Molly sank heavily down onto the couch at this unwelcome news. Why did everything have to circle back to Sherlock when she was trying to avoid him? This was too much.

"Something's happened between you and Sherlock."

Molly looked up to see Mary watching her intently. She really did resemble Sherlock in how she was studying Molly right now. How had she never noticed it before? "Did you confess your feelings to him?" Mary asked.

Molly stared at her in astonishment. She wasn't close with Mary, and she had never talked with her about her feelings for Sherlock.

Mary smiled, but her smile was wistful and sad. "You're as easy to read as John. The two of you don't hide your emotions the way the rest of us do. That's why you're so trustworthy."

She was calling John trustworthy, so he obviously hadn't cheated on her. Molly also couldn't believe that Mary cheated on John while she was pregnant with his child. Something else must have happened, but she couldn't imagine what.

"Sherlock isn't there," Mary continued. "He's still in hospital, but I'm sure you know that."

"Yes." Molly finally spoke after regaining her composure. "His recovery is going well now that he's staying put to receive the medical care he needs." She paused then, because she was more comfortable with John than Mary. Strangely enough, she was actually the closest to Sherlock out of the three. He was the one she had spent the most time with, although she could hardly say that she knew that much about him. He wasn't one to share his life story.

She decided that she had nothing to lose by telling Mary the truth. "I did confess my feelings to him. I knew what he would say, of course, but I needed to hear him say it."

"He's a better person than I am," Mary said. "I'm much more selfish about what I want."

Molly was confused by this response. "Sherlock does what he wants without any regard to how it affects other people. That's the definition of selfish."

"Do you really think that what you see on the surface is all there is to him? People like us suppress our desires, because we don't want to be distracted from our work. We don't want to be weak and vulnerable by getting close to someone," Mary explained.

Now even Mary was comparing herself to Sherlock, and Molly was really curious about the newly discovered similarities between them. "You did get close to someone, obviously, because you married John."

"Yes, and the very thing I was afraid of has happened. My love for him has weakened me. Nobody had the power to hurt me like this before. Seeing what we're going through has only reinforced Sherlock's resolve not to suffer the same fate. He's stronger alone and he knows it."

"That's not true," Molly argued. "Life is better when you have someone to share it with. Sure you take the risk of having your heart broken, but all couples have their ups and downs. If John hasn't mentioned divorce, then that means he hasn't given up on your marriage. You can still work it out."

Mary sighed. "It's not just about having your heart broken. Sherlock and I are dangerous people, and that could cause serious consequences for the people we love. We know we should stay away from them, but we are drawn to them and they to us. Night succumbs to day and vice versa. Opposites attract."

It was clear to Molly that Mary was being melodramatic in her distress over her problems with John. "I don't know why you're saying that you're dangerous, but Sherlock isn't dangerous."

"You don't see the darkness in him at all, do you?" Mary questioned with a strange smile. "You and John are so similar. That's why John is his friend and you're his…" Mary shook her head. "Sherlock knows the darkness is there, and he doesn't want it to touch you."

Molly ignored the voice of reason, because she just couldn't help herself. She had to ask the question, even though she knew that she was grasping at straws. "I'm his what?"

"I shouldn't have said that. Probably best to leave well enough alone." Mary seemed to be talking to herself.

"Tell me," Molly pleaded.

Mary looked at her with compassion and understanding. "You're the most important woman in his life other than his mother. He may not express how much he cares about you, but he does. Very much."

It sounded to Molly like Mary was just trying to make her feel better. "He told you that?"

"He didn't have to tell me anything. Unlike Sherlock, I know a lot about human nature. Being able to read people was often crucial to my job, especially when things went wrong."

"Your job as a receptionist?" Molly asked dubiously.

"I used to be in…public relations. Anyway," Mary hurried on. "I noticed how special you are to Sherlock."

"When?" Molly questioned. "You've only seen us in the same room at your wedding."

"And at your job," Mary reminded her. "I don't think he would have let anyone else get away with slapping him like that."

"That was because he knew that he deserved it," Molly said.

"Do you know how violent people can become when they're high on those drugs? John told me that Sherlock attacked Mycroft right after that when they argued at his flat. He would have put him in the hospital if John hadn't intervened. Yet he just stood there and let you hit him."

Molly regarded Mary doubtfully. She didn't attach any significance to that incident since Sherlock had never given her any reason to fear him. It was true that he was bigger and stronger than her and could have easily stopped her. The fact that he hadn't wasn't any kind of proof of her being special to him. That was a ridiculous assumption on Mary's part.

"I know it's none of my business, but what did he say when you confessed your love for him?" Mary asked.

"He said that he can't return my feelings," Molly told her.

"Interesting," Mary noted. "He could have said that he doesn't return your feelings, but he said that he can't."

Molly shrugged. "What's the difference? It means the same thing."

"Not really," Mary said and left it at that.

She offered to make tea, but Molly said that she had to go. Talking about Sherlock had depressed her again. "I hope you work things out with John. Call me if you need help with anything, or even if you just want to talk."

"Yes, thank you. You too. Stop by any time," Mary said politely.

Molly supposed that they could become friends if they made the effort, but things were too depressing right now. She had sought out John and Mary in the hope of forgetting her troubles for awhile, but she had found an even more upsetting situation than the one she was avoiding. Hopefully, John and Mary would be able to work out their problems before the baby was born. Her next stop was to see John at Sherlock's flat. At least Sherlock wouldn't be there.

Molly would soon find out that nothing was going to turn out the way she expected it to that day.

**Notes:**

**Thank you to everyone who favorited or is following this story. I'll try not to let you down.**


	5. Visits

Visits

Molly greeted Mrs. Hudson and asked if John was there. After being informed that he was, she went upstairs to see him. Sherlock was the first person she saw as she stepped into the flat. "What are you doing here?" Molly asked in dismay.

"I live here," he stated dryly. "What are _you_ doing here, Molly?"

"I came to see John," she answered distractedly. "Why are you home? You're not supposed to be discharged from the hospital for at least another week."

"If I had to spend another day there, I would perish from boredom. I live with a doctor, so I can convalesce at home just as well now that I no longer require morphine."

She had to admit that he looked a lot better than the last time she'd seen him. His skin had regained the glow of health, and his eyes were clear and focused. "I'm sure John will be thrilled to have the worst patient in the world under his care."

He smiled briefly at her attempt at a joke. "How are you, Molly? You look—"

"John," she exclaimed in relief when he entered the room. "Mary told me you were here."

"What's happened?" John asked in alarm. "Is the baby—"

"The baby's fine," she hurried to reassure him. "I just went round for a visit, and I found out you were living here now."

"That's right, you didn't know. I'm sorry, Molly. With everything that's been going on, I didn't even think to phone you."

There was no reason that he should have phoned her, but he was obviously so distraught about everything that he felt an apology was necessary. "It's alright. I understand how you feel." She immediately regretted her words, because she didn't know what it was like to have a happy marriage torn apart. Molly didn't even know the cause of the problem.

"Yes, your engagement. So sorry about that," John sympathized. "How are you doing?"

She suddenly felt guilty that her broken engagement wasn't the cause of her heartache. "Fine, I'm fine." Her eyes strayed to Sherlock, and his presence increased the awkwardness of the situation for her. She resolutely turned her attention back to John. "I'm sorry about you and Mary. I hope you can patch things up."

The strain on him was even evident in his voice when he spoke. "What did she tell you?"

"Only that you had moved out, but that she couldn't talk about the reason why. I don't want to pry either. I just wanted to see how you're doing. If you need anything," she finished awkwardly.

"Actually, I hate to bother you, but could you look in on Mary from time to time?" John asked. "Just to make sure she's doing okay with the pregnancy."

"Sure," she agreed. "Anything I can do to help." Molly paused before hesitantly continuing. "But, uh, does she…uh…does she still work with you?" She wondered if he'd gone so far as to fire his own wife.

"Yes, but we're not having any personal conversations right now. I'm not sure if she would even tell me if anything was wrong." John suddenly went into motion. "Where are my manners? I haven't even offered you tea."

"I had some with Mary," she lied. Now that she had discovered that Sherlock was home, Molly just wanted to leave as soon as possible. "I just wanted to drop by and tell you that I'm here for you. You have my number, so call me if you need anything, even if you just want to talk."

She now saw an opportunity to try to atone for her part in deceiving him after Sherlock faked his death. Molly hadn't really been there for John to help him through his grief, because she had felt so uncomfortable around him. She could have ended his pain, but she had promised Sherlock to keep it a secret. Allowing him to suffer when she knew the truth had been the worst thing she'd ever done to anyone.

Molly took one last look at Sherlock before she left. "Remember that you're not invincible. Go back to the hospital if you get worse."

"I'll make sure of it," John promised her.

Sherlock had been oddly quiet during her visit. He must be feeling uncomfortable around her now, and it made her sad to think that they had lost the tentative friendship they had settled into after his absence. Yet she knew that distance was exactly what she needed in order to have a chance with someone else.

Over the next few weeks, Molly spent more time with John and Mary than she ever had before. Being with Mary turned out to be easier than socializing with her other friends, all of whom were trying to cheer her up after the end of her relationship with Tom. Mary was the only one who knew the truth and didn't try to hurry her through her heartbreak. She understood that Molly didn't want to talk about it, because she didn't either. Sometimes they chatted about current events or gossiped about celebrities, while other times they went out into the city to shop. They both delighted in talking about the baby, and Mary shared the ultrasound pictures with her.

"Has John seen these?" Molly asked.

Mary nodded. "I left them on his desk yesterday morning. He gave them back to me at the end of the day, and it seemed like he was going to say something but then he didn't."

"I know he misses you," Molly told her. "He always wants to talk about you and how you're doing. Most of our conversations are about you."

"Then why doesn't he talk to me himself?" Mary questioned in frustration.

"He will," Molly assured her. "He can't put it off forever. He'll have to talk to you once the baby's born. You'll see. He'll be so happy that everything else will be forgotten."

She had vowed to be a good friend to both Mary and John without judging or interfering in their marital troubles, but she couldn't hold back any longer during her next visit with John. "When are you going to talk to Mary? Don't you think you've carried on the silent treatment long enough?"

"I'll talk to her when I'm ready to talk to her," he insisted stubbornly.

"And I thought Sherlock was the immature one," Molly said in exasperation. "You have a child on the way, John. Please tell me that you're not going to miss the birth of your child because you're too stubborn to talk to your wife."

"It kills me that I wasn't at the ultrasound," he exclaimed in anguish. "I shouldn't have been excluded from that."

"You weren't excluded," she argued. "You chose to distance yourself from her and miss out on all the milestones of her pregnancy. Whatever your argument was about, is it worth this? What could be more important than your child?"

"It's not that simple. Of course I love my child, and I love Mary too. God help me, but I do. Even after everything that's happened, I still love her. It would be so much easier if I didn't."

"How would that be easier?" Molly asked. "You're not making any sense. If love her, then you have everything you need to be happy together."

He laughed harshly. "I'm sorry, Molly, but you have no idea what you're talking about. I assume that your break up with Tom was normal. Things didn't work out for whatever reason and you went your separate ways. Tell me, was he still Tom when it ended?"

She regarded him in bewilderment. "What do you mean? Who else would he be?"

"That's a question you would never think to ask, is it? Because you think you know the person you love, the person you're sharing your life with. Mary is carrying my child, but it turns out that I don't know her at all. Things are about as fucked up as they could possibly be."

She was more startled by the tone of his voice than his rare use of a curse word. He was seething with anger. Whatever had happened wasn't going to be resolved as easily as Molly had hoped. She realized for the first time how dire the situation really was. "I'm so sorry, John. I thought that you were overreacting to a marital tiff that got out of hand. I had no idea it was that bad."

"I don't know what I'm going to do."

The despair in his voice pierced her heart, and she offered him the comfort of a hug. He embraced her like a child seeking safety from the things that frightened him. She wished that she could soothe him by telling him it was going to be okay, but she wasn't at all sure that it would be.

"Please conduct your next visit in the privacy of John's bedroom. I have no wish to walk in on something indecent."

John and Molly slowly pulled apart, both of them turning to look at Sherlock with varying degrees of disbelief. Molly spoke in a reasonable tone of voice, because outrage was only just beginning to spark in her mind. "You can't be implying that we—"

"Last time I came home to find you so deep in intimate conversation that you didn't even notice I was there until I was standing right in front of you. Now you've moved on to physical contact. It doesn't take a genius to see where this is going."

"Actually, it does," John said. "A genius who's also an idiot."

"John and I are friends," Molly added. "He's going through a difficult time right now, and he needed a hug."

"Yes, and you offered to provide _anything_ that he needs. As long as I've known him, John could never go too long without a girlfriend, as tiresome as most of them were. You also enjoy lots of sex, so the logical conclusion is that all these visits are leading to something you both want."

Molly stood there fuming and unable to speak. He had never been known for his tact, but this assumption was beyond insulting. She was too busy glaring at Sherlock to spare John a glance, but she could hear the sarcasm in his voice when he spoke. "Why didn't I think of that? Oh that's right, it takes a genius to come up with such a brilliant solution to my problems. Never mind that my marriage is in shambles and I'm estranged from the woman who's carrying my child. The only thing on my mind right now is sex. How about it, Molly? Hasn't this whole situation put you in the mood?"

"Sex is known to relieve stress," Sherlock commented.

"You're an ass!" John stalked out of the room and stomped down the stairs.

Instead of exploding at Sherlock the way she had the last time she was furious with him, Molly felt herself go unnaturally calm. "Your deduction was correct. He's just upset because it didn't help."

He had been drifting off into his thoughts the way he often did, but now she had his full attention. "My deduction?"

"About the sex," she answered carelessly. "We tried it, but it wasn't very good. Not enough passion, I guess. We decided that we're better off as friends."

Sherlock went very still. He seemed to stop breathing altogether while he stared at her with an uncomprehending expression. "You had sex with John?"

She stared back at him without any expression at all. "Yes."

He looked completely lost, like he was unable to follow this simple conversation. "Really?"

"No," she shouted. "Not really, you idiot! How could you think that I would have sex with your best friend after telling you that I love you? Especially since I'm friends with his wife. Is that what you think of me, that I'm some oversexed floozy?"

"I don't think about your level of sexual activity at all." He looked away from her and cleared his throat.

"Then why did you immediately assume that I was going to have sex with John?" Molly demanded.

"You've been spending so much time with him lately, and I know that you don't have a new boyfriend so—"

"How do you know that?" Molly questioned angrily. She looked down at herself. "Tell me. Is there a way you can tell by what I'm wearing? Is there evidence on my shoes? Explain exactly what it is about me that tells you I don't have a boyfriend."

"You haven't introduced him to me," Sherlock replied. "You always introduce them to me. I think you want me to find something wrong with them."

"What?" Molly hissed.

He stepped closer to her, once again secure in his superior assessment of the situation. "Why else would you be so eager to have me meet them? You know how I tear people down."

"Because you're my friend," she told him. "I would think that after everything we've been through, I'm entitled to call you my friend."

"Friends aren't in love with each other."

The words hung in the air between them as Molly's breath caught in her throat.

"I…that is…you, uh, told me that you are. In love with me," he stammered.

"You said each other," she stated quietly.

"Don't look at me that way, Molly." Yet he continued to gaze into her eyes. "I can't—"

"Just once," John said as he stormed into the room. "Just once I'd like you to take my concerns seriously. You've made light of making me think you were dead and making me think I was about to die, but this is serious. I might never reconcile with my wife!"

"Of course you'll reconcile," Sherlock answered distractedly. "It's not like she shot _you_."

Molly's eyes widened with the unbelievable realization of what she had just heard. Her mind quickly connected all the dots: Sherlock's lack of concern about finding the shooter, his statement that it was no longer a problem, John telling her that he didn't know Mary, and Mary herself declaring that she was dangerous. "Mary shot you?" Then her voice hardened. "Mary shot you."

Without another word, Molly sprinted out of the room and down the stairs. She ignored the shouts behind her, including Mrs. Hudson demanding to know why everyone was constantly pounding up and down the stairs. Molly couldn't even hear her while her blood was pulsing with rage.

**Notes:**

**Domitbeus—Thank you for reviewing. I'm glad that you like the story, and that you think I'm staying in character. Sherlock is very difficult to write. So much of his fascinating personality is conveyed by Benedict Cumberbatch's amazingly layered performance. I have to make do with words and hope I'm not too far off the mark.**

**Thank you also to everyone who is reading this story. It's fun to see how popular the show is all over the world, and how many Sherlock and Molly shippers there are!**


	6. Twilight

Twilight

John caught up to her first, because Sherlock still wasn't fully recovered from his injury. He hurtled into her way as she was trying to hail a cab. "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" Molly shot at him. "Maybe you don't know what to do, but I have a few ideas."

"Do any of these ideas take into account the fact that she's pregnant?" John asked as he waved off the cab.

"Get out of my way," she ground out in barely controlled fury. She had no compassion for his plight at the moment.

"Molly, be reasonable," Sherlock advised.

She whirled on him. "Reasonable? What's reasonable is to call the police when someone shoots you. Mary should be in jail."

"That's not necessary. We've since taken her on as our client," Sherlock informed her. "Come inside and we'll discuss this in a rational manner."

"Your client," she exploded. "Have you gone mad? SHE…SHOT…YOU."

"You and John are so prone to hysterics. He was still irate with her even after I explained to him how she saved my life," Sherlock said.

"Was this before or after she shot you?" Molly asked derisively.

"After," he replied coolly. "Now come inside and I'll tell you what happened."

She wanted to confront Mary, but she also wanted to hear the whole story. "You better tell me everything," she grumbled as she followed him back up to his flat.

John cautiously walked behind her, making sure she didn't suddenly make another run for a cab. He offered her a seat in his chair and seated himself in the one the clients used, while Sherlock took his usual seat and began to speak.

"So good of her to save your life after being the one to put it in jeopardy," Molly commented sarcastically after listening to the details of the shooting.

"She could have easily killed me if that had been her intention," Sherlock stated impatiently. "You're allowing emotion to distract you from what's important. The scope of this case is much bigger than one unfortunate shooting. I don't know why you and John can't see that."

"How silly of us to care that you were almost killed," Molly exclaimed. "You apparently don't care what happens to you while you're working on a case. Taking dangerous drugs is acceptable, and being shot is merely unfortunate. Anything goes as long as it's for a case. Where does it end?"

"It ends when I stop Magnusson. This is not just another case, Molly. That slimy reptile has amassed the kind of power no one should have. He's affecting policy here and who knows where else."

"Sherlock," John hissed. "You shouldn't be talking about this. Mycroft said—"

"Molly can be trusted," Sherlock assured him.

"Then why didn't you tell me about Mary?" She was too agitated to remain seated any longer and stood up to pace toward him.

"It didn't concern you," he told her. "None of this concerns you, so leave it alone."

"It should concern _you_. Getting shot should concern you, Sherlock. Mary didn't save your life. She's the one who put it in danger. The surgeon saved your life, just barely. Do you understand how close you came to dying? That's what Mary did to you. How can you overlook that so easily? Doesn't your life mean anything to you?" Molly was dangerously close to tears when she finished her rant, so she blinked them back and embraced her anger.

"Of course my life is important to me, but I'm not ruled by emotion. Mary could not have failed to kill me from that distance if that had been her purpose. Leaving a witness alive goes against all her training. She did it because she allowed her emotions to sway her from her purpose."

"Her training? What is she, an assassin?" Molly happened to glance toward John and caught his expression. "Oh, brilliant! Who's your next client going to be? Jack the Ripper?"

"Now wait a minute," John said as he shot up out of his chair. "Mary is not a serial killer."

"And anyway, Jack the Ripper has been dead for probably a hundred years," Sherlock informed her as if she needed to be told that. "Fascinating case. I would have loved to have been there to solve it. The police back then were even more incompetent than they are now."

"Fuck this," Molly swore furiously.

John was in her way again as she tried to leave. "Where are you going?"

"Home. Is that okay with you? Don't worry about your precious Mary, because I never want to see her again."

With a wounded look, John silently let her pass. She knew that he was hurting too, but she was too upset to be considerate of his feelings.

"Molly," Sherlock called as he followed her down the stairs. "Molly Hooper," he said after she didn't respond.

She stopped just short of the door and turned to face him. He must have been about to halt her flight out the door, because he was standing closer than she had expected. "What?" Molly asked curtly.

"Don't try to hit her. She may not want to hurt you, but her reflexes might take over before she can think."

Damn him and his deductions! "I wouldn't hit a pregnant woman," she declared in an insulted tone. "I'm just going over there to talk."

"You mean to yell," he said with a smile that did funny things to her stomach.

How did he do that? She had been in a rage just a moment ago, but now she was falling into the depths of his blue-green eyes and unconsciously mirroring his smile. "Stop manipulating me." She was still smiling, so it didn't sound like she meant it.

His expression turned serious. "I'm not. Not anymore. I mean it, Molly. Stay away from this case. Please. I don't think that Magnusson could find anything on you, but I don't want him to even notice you at all."

"Why don't you think he could find anything on me?" Molly knew that there was nothing sordid in her past that a blackmailer could use, but it upset her that Sherlock immediately assumed as much. "Am I that boring?"

"I would have told you already if you were boring. People who chatter incessantly about inconsequential things are boring. I can barely tolerate them, but you are pleasant company. I can hear myself think in your presence."

How unfair that he was unaffected by her when she found him so distracting that she could barely think around him. "It's called small talk," she said. "It's what people do to keep the conversation going."

"Why speak if you have nothing to say?" Sherlock asked.

"People are uncomfortable with silence. They feel like they have to fill the gaps in conversation," she explained.

"You don't. Living with you was peaceful. When you weren't slamming doors," he added with a smirk.

She suddenly blushed at the memory that sprang into her mind without warning. What had happened between them in her flat that night two years ago was something she never allowed herself to think about. She had tried to forget it in her attempt to get over him.

Sherlock's gaze intensified as he watched her face flush with heat. "Did you ever use the present I got you?"

"It wasn't a present," she answered in an unsteady voice. "You paid for it with my money."

"It's the thought that counts," he said in a tone that didn't sound as flippant as he had intended.

She was riled up about this thing with Mary. Her emotions were already volatile and ready to boil over. That was why she ignited so quickly at his words. These were the reasons she later gave herself to justify her wanton behavior. Because all it took was for her to wonder what kind of thoughts he'd been thinking when he'd decided to buy her a vibrator. He must have imagined her using it at some point during his thought process about it.

Molly fell into him in her haste to kiss him. She grabbed a hold of his neck as she pulled herself up to reach his lips with her own. He made a sound that could have been surprise or something else. Then he was kissing her back just as hungrily as she kissed him.

"Oh!"

The feminine gasp behind him made Sherlock break the kiss and turn to see a shocked Mrs. Hudson gaping at them. She quickly collected herself. "Sorry to interrupt. My husband and I could never keep our hands off each other either," she confided. "I remember once when we—"

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock bellowed.

"Right, you want to be alone. Now that you've had a breather, perhaps you could make it up to your bedroom."

Molly burned with shame as Mrs. Hudson walked away while continuing to throw curious glances back at them. She couldn't look directly at Sherlock as she stumbled over her words. "Sorry, I don't know what I was…um, I have to go."

She spun back toward the door and fumbled to get it open before hurrying outside. This time no one stopped her as she hailed a cab. She didn't dare look out the window to see if Sherlock was watching her leave. After she had given the driver Mary's address and the cab had traveled some distance down the street, Molly spent the rest of the ride gazing out into the dwindling light. It was twilight, that special, brief time in the evening that alerted people to the approaching darkness.

**Notes:**

**just7364—Ha! I wish you could convince my boss that I need to be on vacation until I finish this story. Thank you for reviewing. I had never seen Benedict Cumberbatch in anything before Sherlock, but I think he is a superb actor. I can't imagine anyone else playing this part now that I've seen his performance.**

**Domibeus—Thank you for reviewing again. Yes, it is a bumpy road. I might have to change the description depending on how long this turns out to be. It's probably no longer a short story.**

**ingaice—Thank you for your review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I don't really know where I'm going with it after I reach the point where the show left off. It's been nice having a storyline to follow.**

**Sapphyrelight—Your review made me laugh. I'd love to see Molly's reaction on the show to finding out the truth about Mary. They've done so much with Molly in season 3, and I hope they continue to show us more of her in the next season. Thanks for taking the time to review.**

**Thanks again to everyone who is reading this story.**


	7. Darkness

Darkness

Mary was waiting for her. She opened the door as Molly approached her building, and her expression was grim. They didn't speak until they were inside Mary's flat. "You know why I'm here," Molly said.

"I can't change what happened," Mary answered.

"I can't change how I feel either," Molly told her.

"None of us can," Mary agreed. "It's why we're in this mess now."

She had been only angry before she arrived, but now Molly felt the weight of what was between them. It was blocking the way to their friendship, and nothing could be done to remove it.

Mary spoke the thought aloud. "You know me better than any of my other friends, and that's become the problem. We haven't had to pretend with each other, but now you've found out something you'd rather not know."

"What would you do if our positions were reversed? What if John had been the one to get shot, and I was the one who shot him?" Molly asked.

The expression on Mary's face chilled Molly to the bone. "I'm lucky you're not like me," she said.

She realized that coming here had been a waste of time. She wouldn't have been able to get into a physical fight, even if Mary hadn't been pregnant. Unleashing her fury on Mary verbally would also change nothing. She ignored the thought that her rage had been tempered by her kissing session with Sherlock. All her passion had been poured into that kiss, and she was left with nothing but cold disdain for Mary. "That's it then." Molly pulled her phone out of her purse. "I should have told the cab driver to wait."

"Why'd he tell you?" Mary asked. "What happened today?"

Molly stopped fiddling with her phone and looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"Sherlock. I assume he's the one who told you, but why did he?"

Molly shrugged. "It just slipped out unintentionally."

Mary barked out a strange laugh. "Nothing is unintentional with Sherlock. There is a purpose to everything he says and does. Exactly how did it slip out?"

Molly shifted uncomfortably. "It was during an argument."

"With you?" Mary prompted.

"With John. With both of us actually," Molly explained. "It was ridiculous, really."

"What was it about?" Mary asked and got her answer when a blush crept over Molly's face. "He thought that you and John…" Surprisingly, she smiled. "That brilliant bastard. He decided to ensure it would never happen by causing a rift between you."

"No," Molly denied. "We'd already had a row about that, and John was upset about him not taking your estrangement seriously."

"Which has been the case since the start of it, but he chose today to let the truth slip out in front of you. And now you're upset with John too. How convenient that you'll no longer be in the mood to console him over his marital problems."

That couldn't be true, could it? Molly pondered the situation during her cab ride home after her final visit with Mary. Was Sherlock really that calculating? He had manipulated her in the past, but that had been about using her lab and her cadavers for his own purposes. Would he deliberately stir up trouble between her and his best friend? It seemed preposterous that he would use the shocking truth about Mary for such a petty reason.

Too much had happened in one day. Molly's emotions had been all over the map, and now she came crashing down in exhaustion. She went to bed early, but she didn't feel refreshed when she woke up in the morning. Her shower helped her shake off some of her inertia, and she went about her usual Monday routine of preparing for work. Everything was fine while she remained busy. It was the quiet moments that got to her, because they gave her too much time to think. Despite the distressing revelation yesterday, her mind was on Sherlock's reaction to her kissing him. What was he thinking now? He had kissed her back, that was for sure, but she didn't know why. The conversation with Mary had planted doubt in her mind. Had he really wanted to kiss her or had it been a means of distracting her from her anger over Mary?

When weeks passed without any contact from Sherlock, she had to conclude that he didn't want her. Molly had gone back to her normal social life with her friends, but a darkness had settled over her heart. She always had a little bit of the holiday blues since the death of her father, but this Christmas felt especially lonely. Being an only child meant that she didn't have a sibling to share her grief with, though she spent Christmas with her mother and extended family this year. She thought about Mary and wondered if the baby she was carrying would also be an only child. Would John ever remarry if he didn't reconcile with his wife? Then she wondered what Sherlock was doing today. She would normally tell herself to stop thinking about him, but she allowed herself to be sentimental on Christmas. Molly would leave her umpteenth vow to get over him for her New Year's resolutions. She spent the night in her childhood home and fell asleep thinking about a man who was very different from her girlish fantasies of the ideal man. But how could she ever have imagined such a man as Sherlock back when she was a naïve teen?

She had fantasized about someone romantic who said sweet things to her. He would be gentle and kind, and he would connect with her on a deep emotional level. They would have a loving marriage and raise a family together. Instead, she was in love with a difficult man who constantly threw her emotions into a tailspin. He had been cold and insensitive to her so many times, but he wasn't always. She couldn't get her bearings with him, and that was why it was so hard for her to break free of him. Every time she had written him off as uncaring, he had done or said something to pull her back in.

It had to end, though, if she was ever going to have a future with someone else. She couldn't keep hoping for something that would never happen. Although Molly was hurt that he had ceased all contact with her after she kissed him, she knew that it was the best thing for her. She didn't need all this crazy drama in her life.

This time she would truly make a fresh start without him. She repeated this to herself daily, trying to regain her optimism about her romantic future. Yet when a seemingly nice guy she met at a pub asked her out, she turned him down without even considering it. She had set her goal for spring. By then she would be in a better mood and ready to date again.

Molly was diligently focusing on her own life and trying her best not to think about Sherlock, but the news that Magnusson had been murdered put him back at the forefront of her mind. She wondered if he was helping the police investigate the case, or if he even cared to find out who the killer was. He had said that he wanted to stop Magnusson, so the murderer had done that for him. Was he happy about that, or did he feel cheated out of stopping Magnusson his way? Well, it was nothing to do with her. He had been adamant about keeping Molly away from that case.

She had nearly succeeded in putting Sherlock out of her thoughts again when her sense of calm was shattered by Moriarty's reappearance. It was impossible since he was dead, but everyone had thought that Sherlock was dead too. Molly almost called him to find out his theories about what was going on. Then she resolved to continue her Sherlock free life. She was making progress, and she didn't want to relapse into hoping to see him.

All her willpower was for nothing, however, when she found him waiting for her in her flat after work. She would be lying if she said he was an unwelcome sight. Letting him know that would be disastrous to her self esteem, so she did her best to sound unwelcoming. "Why are you here?"

"Moriarty—"

"Yes," she interrupted. "I saw it. You could have just called me."

"A phone call wouldn't prove anything. He could have been telling you what to say. He's done that before. I need to make sure you're safe. Has he tried to contact you?"

"No," Molly answered. "Why would he? You said that I wasn't important to him."

"That was before he knew that you helped me fake my death," Sherlock said. "Now he knows how much you matter to me."

"You have a funny way of showing it," she said before she could stop herself.

"What do you mean by that?"

He looked genuinely perplexed, and it pissed her off. "What I mean is that he probably would have thought that you'd forgotten I even exist if you hadn't shown up here now."

"I told you that I was working on an important case. Did you expect me to drop everything and make social calls?"

"I don't expect anything from you," she declared angrily. Why couldn't she summon the icy cool that she had affected toward him in her imagination when she thought about how she would treat him the next time she saw him? "Just leave me alone."

"You can't be alone until I solve this. I'll stay here until we catch him."

She wasn't going to calm down anytime soon, not with him assuming that he could make decisions like this without even asking her. "You can't stay here unless I invite you."

"You already gave me a key," he reminded her with all the cool she was lacking.

"That was before."

"Before what?" Sherlock asked. "I don't see any signs of anyone else living here."

"So you think that you can just disrupt my life whenever the whim strikes you?" Molly demanded.

Anger sparked in his eyes. "My concern for your safety is hardly a whim."

"I don't need you," she told him vehemently. "Not for anything."

His expression changed in a barely perceptible way. "What kind of needs are you referring to?"

Just like that, she was completely unnerved. "I, uh…I thought that Moriarty was dead."

"Mycroft claims to be sure of it, but he still called me back from my mission to take care of this."

His immediate return to his normal manner of replying made her think that she had imagined his change in demeanor. "You were away on a mission?"

"I barely got off the ground before Mycroft ordered the plane to return. Go about your normal routine. I have dinner for us when you're ready." Sherlock gestured toward the kitchen where a bag of Chinese take-out was visible.

She was finally going to have dinner with him, Molly thought wryly. When he had stayed with her after faking his death, they had never been in sync with their meals. He arrived and left at odd hours due to using the cover of darkness to avoid being seen. This time it was different, but how different remained to be seen. Molly went into her bedroom to change out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable. She usually went braless at home, but she couldn't do that while Sherlock was there. He had said to go about her usual routine, but his presence prevented that. There was no way she could block out her awareness of him. She knew that she should make him leave after dinner. Living with him, for however briefly, was not going to help her get over him.

They ate together at the kitchen table, and chatted like normal people for once. "How's John?" Molly asked.

"Happy. He reconciled with Mary, and he's moved back in with her."

"Oh, that's nice," she commented politely. That's astonishing, she thought secretly.

Sherlock smirked, apparently having guessed her thoughts. "I know you don't approve, but he was miserable without her."

"I don't want him to be miserable," she conceded.

"You haven't seen him or talked to him at all?" Sherlock questioned.

She felt bad about abandoning John, but she just couldn't commiserate with him over Mary anymore after finding out the truth. "No, not since that day at your flat." She really didn't want to talk about that day with Sherlock either, considering what had transpired between them.

Molly dropped her eyes to her plate when his gaze lingered on her. "So, how was your Christmas?"

"Different," he replied.

"Different how?" Molly prompted.

"We went to my parents' house. All of us. John, Mary, and even Mycroft. We never do the family Christmas thing. But it all worked out in the end." His smile revealed that he was pleased with the outcome.

She noticed that she wasn't included as one of them. "Oh, John and Mary reconciled in time for Christmas? I guess no one wants to spend Christmas alone."

"No, they actually reconciled on Christmas day," Sherlock explained.

So he had chosen to invite Mary but hadn't even spared a thought for Molly. She knew that he had done it for John, but it still stung. "Love and forgiveness," she mused. "It's the spirit of the season."

She caught a glimpse of something in his eyes that she couldn't define. It was gone in a flash, but it reappeared at random times over the course of the evening. Something was different about him. He seemed the same on the surface, but she sensed an unfamiliar undercurrent that hadn't existed before. John had always been the tightly wound one, while Sherlock was straightforward and analytical. Yet now there was a tension in him that set her increasingly on edge.

"I have to go take a shower," she announced after clearing the kitchen table.

"May I?" Sherlock asked, although he had already logged onto her laptop.

"Sure," she agreed, relieved to get a little private time to sort out her thoughts.

The shower soothed her frayed nerves and calmed her down enough to realize that she had most likely overreacted to the situation. Sherlock had come back into her life just when she had done so well with letting go of him. The tension she had sensed in him was probably just stress due to Moriarty's return. There was nothing mysterious about it. He had said to go about her usual routine, and she resolved to do just that. Molly put on her most comfortable pair of winter pajamas, but she threw on her robe over them before going back into the living room. Sherlock's eyes flicked toward her, but he immediately returned his gaze to the computer screen. Molly turned on the TV and sat down on the couch, because Sherlock was in the easy chair. She clicked through the channels until she found a movie, but she couldn't become engrossed in it the way she usually did. It had to be her imagination playing tricks on her, but she could feel Sherlock staring at her. After awhile, she became convinced that he really was watching her.

Molly tried not to look, but it was just like the moth trying to withstand the allure of the flame. She found it to be an apt comparison, because his gaze was so intense that she could practically feel the heat radiating from him. It seemed very likely that she would burn up if she got too close.

"Tell me again that I'm not invincible."

She was startled out of her fanciful thoughts by the rich, deep sound of his voice. "You're not invincible," she said, obeying his command more than putting any actual thought into what she was saying.

"I don't believe you."

The meaning of his words penetrated through her dreamy fascination with his eyes. "What?" Molly asked, although she had heard him. Her ears had picked up on the challenge in his voice, daring her to argue with him.

"I slayed the dragon, Molly. He was breathing fire, thinking that he had defeated me. But I didn't hesitate, and now he's dead."

Unease skated along her nerves. "Have you been taking drugs again? Are you high?"

"Yes, I'm high," he confirmed. "But I haven't taken drugs. I don't need to, because I don't have to chase the high. I've stood on the edge and let myself fall, and I've survived. I felt the impact of the bullet, and it knocked me into oblivion. But I survived it, and I'll survive this too. Why didn't you use my present? It's still in the box."

She struggled to keep up with his rapid-fire words. "Of course you'll survive Moriarty. You've already beat him once before." She purposely ignored his questions, as she had no intention of discussing the vibrator with him.

"I assume that Moriarty has nothing to do with your sex life. Please tell me that you didn't actually sleep with him."

"Of course not," she answered impatiently. "We only went out on three dates. It wasn't like I fell in love with him." Never had she wanted to take back any words she had spoken more than she did at this moment. She was mortified that he might think she was trying to hint at something with him.

"Okay, good. Back to my present. Why didn't you use it?"

She flushed in embarrassment at his prying question. "I couldn't."

"I left you instructions," he said.

"I know how to use a vibrator," she exclaimed. And now she wanted to hide from him, but she was sitting right in front of him and settled for dropping her gaze to the floor.

"I thought about you while I was away. It wasn't all action and danger. There were many tedious hours alone with nothing to do but wait for the right opportunity. That's when I would get homesick and miss London, miss my life. I felt like I was adrift without an anchor. Yet that wasn't true, because I had you. I didn't know what everybody else was doing, but I could always picture you. Working in the lab, so diligent and careful. Always proving yourself someone who can be counted on."

The wonderful things he was saying made her forget her embarrassment and lift her eyes back up to his face. She couldn't help her response. Hope blossomed again within her and touched her heart with a warm glow.

"I thought about that night too, Molly. The night I touched you and heard you moan in pleasure. I imagined you using my present and thinking about me, remembering when you were feeling me touch you there."

The room suddenly became sweltering hot. His voice was sexy when he was talking about the weather. Hearing him say such sexual things made her feel like she was about to pass out, like one of those heroines in an old book who was about to swoon.

"I'm a bit disappointed that wasn't the case. My present was shoved into your closet and forgotten. You haven't thought about that night at all. It shouldn't have surprised me since you were engaged when I returned."

She felt herself standing on a precipice and knew that she should step back. With her heart hammering in her chest, she plunged straight off of it as she spoke. "I did think about that night, even though I tried not to. You're right about the present. I shoved it to the back of my closet and never touched it again. Why would I? It was no substitute for you. There has never been a substitute for you, Sherlock."

Molly saw the change in him happen before her eyes. In her fantasies, she had imagined him becoming overwhelmed with passion and losing control, but she had been very wrong. He had always been in control of himself and had chosen to suppress his sexual desires. Now he chose to indulge them.

She was the one who was overwhelmed, because she had never imagined what it would feel like to have all his focus directed at her. He noticed so much with a mere glance, and his mind could take in so much information from every direction of his surroundings. She'd seen him do it many times and taken it for granted that he could see everything. His sharply focused gaze now consumed her.

Molly had hoped and wished for years, but she hadn't believed that it would ever happen. Not for real. It had always been just a fantasy, thinking that he might want to be with her. Fantasies, it turned out, were very different from reality. They were perfect and safe, and she had experienced complete bliss in them. There had been no insecurity or doubt, but this was no fantasy. All she felt now was panic, and she would have bolted as he stood and approached her if her legs hadn't become completely useless. In the two steps it took him to reach her, she began to tremble like a scared virgin.

Sherlock noticed her reaction the way he noticed everything. "I haven't even touched you yet," he noted, but the look in his eyes was not analytical at all.

**Notes:**

**It will probably be awhile until another update, because I really don't know how I'm going to write the next part. I can picture it so clearly up to this point, and then my mind goes blank. I also don't know how I'm going to deal with the Moriarty question. My theory is that someone else broadcast his image. I find it hard to believe that Mycroft wouldn't make damned sure that he was really dead. This chapter needs major editing, and I'll be working on that while I try to figure out what to write next.**

**Thank you again to everyone who is reading this story, and to the guests who reviewed. Just7364—I appreciate your reviews and suggestions. I'll check out that movie when I get a chance. **


	8. Supermassive Black Hole

Supermassive Black Hole

_Ooh baby don't you know I suffer?_

_Oh, baby can you hear me moan? _

_You caught me under false pretenses_

_How long before you let me go?_

_Supermassive Black Hole by Muse_

Molly's body began to overheat as Sherlock sat down beside her. She could feel the beads of perspiration on her forehead, which made her feel even more unattractive next to him. He looked as impeccable as always. Why was he dressed like that when he was merely lounging around in her flat?

"Why are you wearing a coat?" Sherlock asked. He swiftly untied her robe and pushed it off her shoulders, abandoning it halfway down her arms to kiss her passionately.

Kissing him was just as good as she remembered, and all her nervousness burned away in the heat of passion. He slid his hand beneath her pajama top, and Molly moaned against his mouth at the feel of his touch on her bare skin. She broke the kiss to stand up and rid herself of the cumbersome robe. Then she climbed on top of Sherlock to straddle him and resume kissing him. His hands first caressed her back underneath her pajama top and then slipped lower into her pajama pants. He gripped her bottom and pulled her tightly against him.

She quickly became impatient for more contact. "Naked, now," she said as she climbed off him.

He gave a throaty chuckle before standing up to comply. "Bedroom?"

Molly didn't bother with buttons and simply pulled her pajama top over her head. "Later. Do you need help?" Her pajama bottoms were loose enough to fall to the floor after she pushed them down past her hips. She looked up to see that he was only half-naked.

Sherlock had stopped undressing and was staring at her naked body. Her lust had kept her going until now, but she needed physical contact to keep from becoming self-conscious again. That was the reason she hadn't wanted to stop and make the walk to her bedroom. She didn't want to stop and think about the fact that THIS WAS REALLY HAPPENING.

Molly stepped forward and boldly grasped him through his pants, making him groan. She pressed her mouth to his chest. "Why aren't you naked?" Molly murmured. "I can't do what I want until you're naked."

She was suddenly sitting down on the couch again, but Sherlock was kneeling on the floor in front of her with his mouth attached to her nipple. Molly threw her head back and moaned. Then she had to watch him do it, because seeing him was just as erotic as feeling him do it. By the time he moved on to the other nipple, she was arching her back and completely lost in the sensations that seemed to be shooting straight down to her core. As soon as he released her nipple from his mouth, she took the opportunity to pull insistently on him to stand up. She grabbed at his pants, but he unzipped them himself and removed them along with his underwear.

Molly wasted no time with gawking at him, because she was wild with want. She stood up and pushed him to sit down. "I'm still on the Pill," she told him before climbing back onto his lap. She grabbed onto his shoulders and held herself up as she rubbed herself teasingly over him.

He hissed at the sensation. "Just as wet as I remembered."

She looked down into his cobalt blue eyes. "Now." It came out sounding almost like a question.

"Now," he agreed and guided himself into her as she slid down on top of him.

"Oh," Molly moaned while he grunted through gritted teeth.

Their gazes locked as she slowly began to move up and down his length while he gripped her hips. Her moans became more frequent as she found her rhythm and built toward her climax. Sherlock groaned with the strain of holding back until she came. Then the moans escaped him as he gave up control and came inside her. They stayed like that for awhile, both of them panting heavily after finding release in each other. Sherlock's kiss was gentle now before Molly climbed off him. She grabbed her robe from the floor and set it on the couch. Then she plopped down on it in sated relaxation. Sherlock was in the same state of lazy repose as she sprawled beside him.

He smiled at her and ran his hand lightly over her arm. "I think we already stained the couch."

"Worth it," Molly purred contentedly.

"Mmm, I'm glad it happened here."

She glanced at him in amusement. "On the couch?"

"In your flat," he told her. "Ever since you kissed me at mine, I think about you every time I see the front door. It's been very distracting."

She was elated to know that he had been thinking about her. "I like distracting you," she said in what she hoped was a sultry tone.

He patted her knee. "I'm going to shower."

Molly finally took a moment to admire his nude body as she watched him stand up and walk away. She put her pajama back on and threw her robe in the dirty laundry. It was as she was rubbing at the sofa cushion with a damp rag that doubt surfaced again in her mind. She'd just had sex with Sherlock after many years of desiring him. Yet she didn't know if that meant anything to him. He knew that she was in love with him, but he'd made no such declaration to her. Was this just a one night stand to him? He'd admitted to being distracted by sexual thoughts of her. Maybe this had been a means of ridding himself of those thoughts. Now that he'd had her, the mystery was gone. She knew how quickly he got bored after solving a mystery.

Perhaps she'd now gotten him out of her system too, Molly thought. She would no longer have fantasies about him after experiencing the real thing. Sure she still had feelings for him, but her physical attraction to him should begin to fade since she'd satisfied that desire. They could still remain friends if he saw that she wasn't going to make a big deal about what had happened. At the moment, however, there was no way she could sit here in the living room with him and act casual about the whole thing. She decided to go to bed and deal with it in the morning if he was still there. Maybe he was one of those guys who needed his space after sex and would go home after his shower. Molly headed for her bedroom, because she'd be damned if she'd give up her bed to him after he'd just had sex with her.

She lay down on top of the covers and listened to Sherlock's footsteps in the hallway after he emerged from the bathroom. He presumably went into the living room, because there was silence for several minutes. Then she heard his footsteps returning before he opened her bedroom door. Molly could see him clearly, because she still hadn't turned off the light. He was wearing a towel wrapped around his waist, and there were a few water droplets glistening on his chest. She felt desire stir within her again.

"How about some dessert?" Sherlock asked.

Molly tried to control her wayward thoughts and tried to remember if she had any sweets in the kitchen. She hadn't been expecting company, and a trip to the market was overdue. "I think I might have some ice cream in the freezer."

"I'm craving something hotter." He dropped his towel to reveal that his body was ready for her again.

She watched with lust-filled eyes as he joined her on the bed. He removed her pajamas so quickly that she expected him to immediately plunge into her, but he inflamed her again with deep, sensual kisses. He then watched her face as he stroked her between her legs and brought her to orgasm. After she came back to herself, he maneuvered a pillow beneath her bottom.

"What's that for?" Molly asked.

"It helps with the angle," he answered as he prepared to enter her.

She didn't think that she'd be able to come again so soon, but a pressure began to build within her with his every thrust. Their first coupling had been quick and heated with the release of pent up desire, but this time was much longer and slower. It should have been even better, but Molly began to feel an unpleasant sensation. This had never happened to her during sex before, and she was loathe to tell him. The urge to pee was becoming increasingly hard to ignore, however.

"Stop for a minute," she said.

"It's okay," he soothed.

"Stop," she pleaded. "I have to go."

"It'll be okay. Just relax," he coaxed.

Afraid of embarrassing herself, she tried to move away from him, but he held on tightly to her as he kept up his relentless pace. "It means you're close," he told her.

For once he didn't know what he was talking about. She wasn't close to orgasm at all, only to peeing on him. Becoming annoyed, she decided to let him learn the hard way. She felt near to bursting now with the need to pee, but all of that was forgotten in the next instant. An orgasm unlike any other she'd ever experienced rocked her entire body. Liquid came gushing out between her legs, but it wasn't pee. She vaguely heard Sherlock cry out from his own orgasm a short time later. He rolled off of her and collapsed beside her.

After catching his breath, he turned on his side and wrapped an arm around her. "Are you okay?"

"Whew," she breathed. "What was that?"

"G-spot orgasm. The pillow angled your body enough for me to stimulate the exact spot. It can also be achieved by inserting two fingers and pressing against the front wall of the vagina."

She had to laugh at him giving her a lecture on the subject at a time like this. "Did you research it? Not that I'm complaining about your skill, but do you ever just cut loose and see what happens?"

"Yes," he answered. "That's how I learned about it. I was involved with someone who taught me a lot about sex."

"Involved?" Molly questioned playfully. "Can't you just admit that you had a girlfriend?"

"No, because she wasn't. I made it very clear from the start that I wanted no emotional attachments. It was just sex."

She didn't like the sound of that, because he had also made it very clear to Molly that he couldn't return her feelings. "How long were you…involved?"

"Not long," he replied. "I found that I didn't care for her sleeping with other men. She became furious when I called her on it. Whereas she had previously declared my deductions brilliant, she didn't like it when I used them on her. She called me an emotionless freak and blamed me for her promiscuity."

"Was she the one you were talking about when you said that lots of sex can't sustain a relationship?" Molly asked. She was curious about his love life, or rather sex life as he claimed to be opposed to love.

"Yes. She did impart an extensive knowledge of sex to me in our brief time together, and I felt there was no more need for further study."

She looked at him with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. "So you studied sex the way you study everything else. Don't you ever just get, well, horny?"

"Of course, but there's no need to involve anyone else in that. An occasional pornographic picture will suffice to aid in masturbation. I avoid the expectations of those seeking a relationship."

"So you've never had a real girlfriend?" Molly asked, just to be sure of his intentions.

"I did. Two, in fact, at university. Each one eventually broke up with me for failing to fall in love with her. After my subsequent experience with casual sex, I decided not to bother with anymore involvements."

Despite her resolve not to make a big deal about this, she needed to know. "Then why did you have sex with me?" Twice, she added silently.

He looked troubled as he answered. "I wasn't planning to. This is the first time I've had unplanned sex. I didn't even bring along a condom, and I didn't even think about birth control until you mentioned being on the Pill."

He seemed to be subconsciously stroking her skin with his thumb as he spoke. "I've wanted to have sex with a few other women over the years, but I've resisted the temptation. Thinking about them while I masturbated made me feel like I'd already had them, but that didn't work with you. I couldn't picture your responses clearly enough, and I wanted to know them. I wanted to know all of them."

He wasn't studying sex this time, Molly thought. He was studying her. She had dreamed of having his attention focused on her, but she had hoped it would mean something more. "I need to clean up and change the sheets," she told him.

She took another shower, this one a quick one to wash off the mess between her legs that Sherlock had explained was female ejaculate. He had already changed the sheets by the time she returned to the bedroom. Molly had brushed her teeth in preparation for going to bed, so she bid him goodnight and lay down under the covers. He turned off the light for her on his way out of the room. She sighed at his departure and resigned herself to sleep alone. Sherlock interrupted her descent into slumber some time later when he returned to lay down beside her.

"Goodnight, Molly," he said softly.

He was still asleep when she woke in the morning. Molly quietly slipped out of bed so as not to wake him. She looked at him for a moment, enjoying how peaceful and relaxed he was right now. Her heart swelled with love for him, and she had to turn away. He had made it clear that he didn't love her, so she couldn't allow herself to get caught up in romantic fantasies. His friendly affection for her would have to be enough, and she hoped to hold onto it after the physical part of their relationship had run its course.

She certainly was enjoying the physical part, and she had that completely unstressed feeling that could only be achieved by great sex or an intense workout. Molly started a pot of coffee brewing and saw that she had plenty of time for a shower before work. She considered hot showers to be one of the greatest luxuries of the modern age, and she loved to indulge in them. Doing the kind of work she did, she always took one after work. She also often liked to take one before work to energize her in the morning.

Molly found the bedroom door open as she emerged from the bathroom. The bed was empty, so Sherlock must be in the kitchen. She closed the door and dropped her towel on the bed before walking over to her closet to decide what to wear. The sound of the door opening startled her, and she instinctively tried to cover her nakedness as she turned toward it.

Sherlock's eyes roamed over her. "Wet," he said. "Just the way I want you."

Her heart immediately began to pound in anticipation as he approached her, especially since he hadn't bothered to get dressed. His eyes burning the way they had last night, he took her hand and led her to the bed. He gently tumbled her onto it and kneeled down on the floor before her. She saw his head dip between her legs and moaned when she felt his tongue. He skillfully teased her with varying pressure on her pleasure point until the exquisite sensations had her grabbing onto his tousled curls in desperation. She moaned and cried out loudly as she sought her release.

"Please," she pleaded. "Oh, please." The pressure built to an unbearable level and tipped her over the edge. "Yes," she screamed as she came.

He sprang up from the floor with a wild look in his eyes and lifted her legs. His jaw clenched at the sudden sound of the doorbell.

"Ignore it," Molly urged.

He let go of her legs. "It could be important, something to do with Moriarty." He took a few steadying breaths in an attempt to calm down. "Damn it!"

Molly sat up and glanced down at him to see that he was still very aroused. "I'll get it." She scrambled off the bed and hurriedly threw some clothes on.

The doorbell was still ringing insistently as she walked toward the door to her flat and pressed the intercom. "Yes?"

"Molly Hooper?"

"Yes," she replied to the unfamiliar feminine voice. "Who's this?"

"I need to speak to you. It's urgent."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Molly asked.

"Is Sherlock still there?"

"Buzz her in," Sherlock said from behind her.

Molly spun around to see him looking rather ridiculous wrapped in a bed sheet. She would have laughed if the expression on his face hadn't been so grim. "Who is she?"

Instead of answering, he leaned past her to press the button that would allow the mystery woman to enter the main part of the building. "Get back," he told Molly.

She now saw that he was holding a gun in one hand. He dropped the sheet on the floor and waited for the knock on the door as Molly gaped at him. Sherlock pulled open the door and aimed his gun quickly at the woman who stood there.

Her lips curved into a wicked smile as her eyes slid down his body. "It's nice to know that you're happy to see me." She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "Did you miss me?"

His eyes narrowed at her. "Are you behind this?"

"Behind what, Sherlock? You know I've been away, so you need to fill me in on what's going on."

"Moriarty. Are you working with him again?"

The confident smile slipped from her face. "I heard he was dead. It was in all the papers. Are you saying he's alive?"

"I don't know, but someone is making it seem like he is. Why are you here then if not for him?" Sherlock asked.

"We have a problem," she stated.

"Sherlock," Molly demanded. "Who is she?"

He glanced at her, only now seeming to remember that she was still there. "Irene Adler."

Molly was frustrated by that answer, because the name meant nothing to her. "But who is she?"

"An old friend," Irene said. "Stop pointing that gun at me, Sherlock. I need to show you something." She pulled a laptop computer out of the case she was carrying.

"Aren't you going to put some clothes on?" Molly asked.

"No," he said dismissively and lowered the gun. Still watching Irene carefully, he picked up the sheet and draped it over his lap after sitting down on the couch.

Irene sat down beside him and opened the laptop computer she had brought with her. "Someone sent me this last night."

Molly stood awkwardly beside Sherlock and craned her head to see the screen. It appeared to be a video showing a section of a bookshelf. It was the voices she could hear that made her recognize that the bookshelf was hers even before her eyes made the connection. She heard Sherlock's voice and her own having the conversation that had proceeded their sex session in the living room last night. "Turn it off!" Her voice sounded shrill, but she didn't care. "Turn it off," she repeated as Sherlock and Irene both looked at her.

Irene pressed a button that caused the voices to stop. "I guess you were finally hungry enough for dinner."

Molly was too upset to care about the cryptic looks they were giving each other. "You recorded us? How could you do that, Sherlock? I trusted you! Why would you do that, and why would you send it to her?"

"He didn't," Irene said before he could answer. "I think it was Benjamin."

Sherlock's head swiveled away from Molly toward Irene. "Who is Benjamin?"

"A man I met in Greece. I knew I couldn't stay with your friends forever, and he seemed nice. Also, he was rich which made up for the fact of how boring he was. He became quite smitten with me and proposed. I accepted, because there was also the added benefit of living in America far away from my past troubles. Domestic life would bore me to tears, but it would be better than death."

"I decided not to become Mrs. Reynolds after I found out that he wasn't as harmless as I had assumed," Irene continued. "He's got goons working for him. He calls them bodyguards, but they're thugs."

"What does any of that have to do with this?" Sherlock gestured toward her laptop.

"He knows how to turn on the computer camera remotely," Irene explained. "That's how he caught me with my lover. He showed me the video he'd recorded from the laptop in my room."

"You rendezvoused with a lover in your fiancé's house?" Sherlock asked in bemusement.

"Sarah, one of the maids at his estate."

Molly raised her eyebrows at this confession.

"He told me that he would allow me female companions," Irene said. "But he wouldn't tolerate male lovers. Then he started to question me about you."

"And why would he do that?" Sherlock asked in a clipped tone. "What did you tell him about me?"

"Nothing," Irene insisted. "I had never even mentioned you, but he had been monitoring my computer. I'd only looked up news articles about you, just to keep up with how you were. It turns out that Benjamin is a computer hacker in his spare time. He claims that he can hack anyone's computer."

Molly remembered that Sherlock had been using her computer before they had sex. He had set it down on the floor and come over to the couch to kiss her. "That still doesn't make sense," she reasoned. "Even if he knew about Sherlock, why would he turn on the camera on my computer? How would he know about me? I've never even met you until today."

"If he dug deep, he would have found your name in the conspiracy theory chat about how Sherlock faked his death. He could have just decided to take a peek at you and happened to get lucky. Or…" Irene sighed deeply. "Or he could have followed Sherlock here, which would mean that he's in London."

"Of course he's in London," Sherlock snapped. "I highly doubt he got remote access to Molly's computer camera from America. He probably followed you to England. What, exactly, did you tell him about me?"

"Only that you helped me with some legal problems. You are a detective after all." Irene smiled at him, but he didn't smile back.

"If that's true, then why would he send you that video?"

Irene hung her head. "You don't know how he is. He had found out about my past, and he asked me if I traded my services for yours. He already knew that I had an interest in you, so there was no use in denying it. Anyway, a partial truth always makes a more convincing lie."

"Which is?" Sherlock prompted.

Instead of answering him herself, Irene showed him something on her computer. Molly quickly stepped behind the couch to read the message over Irene's shoulder.

_It seems he's not as repressed as you thought_

Molly straightened up and happened to glance at the clock. "I'm going to be late for work!" She hurried to her bedroom to change out of her sweatpants and t-shirt, but Sherlock's cell phone started ringing. Picking it up from her dresser, she carried it out to the living room and handed it to him.

"You're not going to work," Sherlock told her when she again returned to the living room, this time dressed in her work clothes. "Moriarty scrambled the traffic signals. It's complete chaos out there. Mycroft says he's demanding I deliver 10 million pounds to him tonight."

"It's a trap," Molly and Irene said at the same time.

"Of course it is," Sherlock agreed. "I don't know how he thinks he'll pull it off. He has to know that Mycroft's men will be tracking me the entire time. He won't be able to pick up the money without being caught."

His cell phone rang again, and he answered it. "Hello, John." He listened for a little while before replying that he was. "Okay," he said after another pause. "Molly, buzz him in."

She did and waited anxiously with the hall door open for John to come upstairs to her flat. "John," she cried out emotionally when she saw him.

"Molly." He embraced her in greeting and smiled at her as he entered the flat. Then his eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight of Sherlock sitting naked beneath a sheet with Irene seated beside him on the couch. "Bloody hell!"

"How'd you get here?" Sherlock asked. "Mycroft said they've already had dozens of accidents."

"It's bad," John confirmed. "But I've driven through war zones. What is she doing here, and what happened to your clothes?"

"That's not important right now. I have to deduce all possible scenarios before tonight."

"Talk to him, John," Molly pleaded. "Tell him he can't go. Moriarty might not be after the money at all. He could be planning to kill him instead."

"So he's behind this?" John asked. "Can't Mycroft deal with this situation?"

"His people will fix the traffic signals, but he's threatened something worse if he's not paid," Sherlock told him. "We all know that he can deliver on his threats."

"Molly's right," Irene said. "You'll be putting yourself in too much danger."

He ignored her concern. "I'm sorry I can't deal with your problem right now. I'll look into it after I take care of Moriarty."

"Take care of him how?" John questioned in a sharp tone. "You can only get away with vigilante tactics for so long."

"That was a special case. I had no other recourse."

Molly saw the look that passed between them as she tried to make sense of their conversation. The Magnusson case was the one that Sherlock had been obsessed with, but that had ended with his murder. Slowly, so slowly, an ugly realization crept into her mind. "Sherlock?" Molly whispered as all the color drained from her face.

"What is it?" Irene asked in concern.

"Don't, Molly," Sherlock warned. "This is not the time to get emotional."

She laughed harshly. "Emotional? No, there is never any need to get emotional." She stepped forward and traced the scar on his chest with her fingers. "See this, Irene? It's just the result of an unfortunate shooting. Sherlock, though, he knew better than to get emotional about it. Nothing is worth getting emotional over, not even murder."

"Molly," Sherlock began.

"Please get dressed and get out of my flat. I want to be alone."

"You can't be alone," Sherlock insisted. "Moriarty might—"

"He's already holding the safety of London over your head. I hardly think he'll bother with me. Now, get out!" She looked at Irene. "I'm sorry to be a bad hostess, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Molly turned toward John. "It's not like I don't want to see you, it's just…"

"Bad timing," John finished somberly. "Let's go, Sherlock. I'll drive you home." He looked warily at Irene. "You too."

Sherlock glared defiantly at Molly, but she stared him down. In a huff, he pulled the sheet around him and strode into her bedroom to get dressed. Fortunately, she had moved his discarded clothing there last night when she straightened up during his shower.

John pulled her aside. "Please don't judge him too harshly. It's a very complicated situation."

That's an understatement, she thought. Just yesterday, her life had been simple and quiet. Now she was popping up in a sex tape and sleeping with a murderer. Molly could barely wrap her mind around the thought that Sherlock had killed someone. On top of that, his life was now in danger again. It was all too much, and she didn't want to deal with any of it. She sat numbly on the couch after they left and watched the news for awhile. Miraculously, no one had been killed in all the chaos, but several people were injured. Moriarty had taken credit for it in another broadcast, and there was speculation about what he would do next.

As the day wore on, Molly began to feel the need to do something. She couldn't just sit here waiting for the worst to happen. Sherlock hadn't asked for her help this time, but she couldn't stand the thought of him going to meet Moriarty alone. She decided that she was going with him, and she called a cab to take her to the rental car company. The roads had been restored to order by this time, so she was able to get there without any problems. Her father had taught her how to drive, but she hadn't driven a car in years. She hoped it was one of those things you never forgot, like riding a bike. Thankfully, she had kept up with renewing her license, in case she ever had children and needed a car. Her plan was to shadow Sherlock without his knowledge, and she hoped he didn't leave before she got to his place. It wasn't the most detailed plan, but she figured she'd improvise as needed.

Molly filled out the paperwork and received a key to the rental car. She located it in the parking lot and sat going over the steps of driving in her mind after she turned the key in the ignition. The passenger door suddenly opened at the same time as one of the rear doors, and two men were quickly seated in the car with her.

"Drive," the one beside her ordered. "Don't try anything, because Liam back there has a gun pointed at you too. If I miss, he won't."

Irene was right, Molly thought when she heard his American accent. He looked completely harmless except for the gun he had trained on her. She carefully put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot. The day was slipping into darkness, and the headlights automatically came on. She kept thinking that she was going to do something brave, fight back in some way, but she was paralyzed with fear and simply followed his directions.

"What were you going to do? Charge in and save your beloved? We'll see if he does the same for you."

"What do you want with me?" Molly asked even as she was afraid of the answer.

"I want to go for a ride, and you conveniently had the same idea. I wasn't about to risk getting behind the wheel. You people drive on the wrong side of the road. It's dangerous. Look at all the accidents it caused today."

His smug tone made her suspicious. "Are you working with Moriarty?"

"What would I need him for? He never brought London to its knees the way I did. He's Sherlock's boogeyman, though, so I thought it'd be fun to bring him back from the dead."

"That was all you?" Molly questioned. "Why? Irene says you're already rich."

"She told you about me?" He sounded pleased by this news. "You see, Molly. I'm just as brilliant as Sherlock is, but she's too enamored with him to see that."

Molly glanced at him in astonishment. "You're doing all this to impress Irene?"

"Oh, Molly. You are a sweet, naïve girl. Why couldn't I fall for someone like you instead of that selfish bitch?"

Molly clamped her mouth shut in shock. They drove in silence after that as they climbed high above the city. She became frightened again when he directed her to park in a deserted overlook. What were they going to do to her now?

"Look at that view," Benjamin marveled. "You've got a front row seat, Molly."

She was overcome with dread. "To what? Where's Sherlock? Is he meeting you here?"

"Just watch," he urged and gestured toward the view in front of them.

She didn't know if her sense of time was distorted, or if they really did sit there for as long as it seemed to her. As nothing at all happened, she began to wonder if Benjamin was deluded. He'd probably had nothing to do with the scrambled traffic signals and was just taking credit for Moriarty's games. She didn't know whether to feel relieved about this or not.

Benjamin glanced at his wristwatch. "Okay, watch now, Molly."

She looked forward again and saw it happen. In one single instant, all of London went dark.

**Notes:**

**I never did get around to editing the previous chapter. This one probably needs it too, but it's too long for me to deal with now. I wanted to put it all in one chapter, though, to go with my theme, courtesy of the awesome Muse song. I can't take credit for my villain. It's just a variation of the hacker plot in the fourth Die Hard movie, because I'm not clever enough to make up my own mystery.**

**Thank you to all the guests who reviewed the last chapter. Just7364—Thanks for your encouragement. You're not being boring at all, and I appreciate the info in your reviews.**

**Domitheus—I wouldn't want to leave you frustrated. Lol. I hope this one isn't a let down after all the anticipation. **


	9. The Ones Who Count

The Ones Who Count

Molly tried to hide her fear while Benjamin took her picture, but she was trembling with it as he approached her afterwards.

He took the gag out of her mouth. "Sorry about the bondage theme, but I want to make a strong impression on Sherlock."

"Why are you doing this?" Molly asked.

"It's an experiment," he explained. "To determine which one of you Sherlock will choose. Who do you think it will be?"

Molly glanced toward Irene, who was in the same predicament. They were both locked in restraints, but Irene was still gagged.

"I hoped that you'd have a little more confidence than that," Benjamin said. "He did say that he'd been thinking about you while he was away, but maybe you know that's a lie. They lie to get what they want from us. Irene even told me that she loves me. That's why I'm leaving her gag on. I don't want to hear anymore of her lies."

"So you're holding us for ransom," Molly guessed. "What if he pays the money for both of us? Or do you think he wouldn't be able to raise enough ransom money for both of us after the ten million pounds you already asked for?"

"I doubt he even delivered that money to the location I specified, because he probably thought that Mycroft's men would capture me before I could get my hands on it. I wonder if he deduced it wasn't Moriarty," he mused thoughtfully. "Not that it matters. The whole thing was just a ruse to keep the police busy, even the power outage. I would have loved to see their reactions when that happened, but I had more important matters to attend to."

Since he didn't seem to have any intention to assault them the way Molly had feared, she mustered some bravado. "Yes, like kidnapping women."

"Not just any women," he said. "The two who are in love with him. Isn't he a lucky man? He can choose between the femme fatale and the girl next door." Benjamin rubbed his hands together. "I can't wait to see which one of you he picks."

"How much money are you asking for this time?" Molly was genuinely curious about the ransom for each of them.

"I thought you were different from other women," he chided her. "I'm talking about love, and all you can think about is money."

"This has nothing to do with love," she shouted, forgetting to tread carefully in her anger. "You couldn't treat Irene this way if you really loved her. All you care about is yourself. You're possessive and controlling, and that's why she left you. Trying to blame Sherlock for it is pathetic."

"Always sticking up for your man. I like that," he said in admiration. "I hope Sherlock appreciates what he has. We'll soon find out when he makes his choice. I'm sure you're dying to find out." He laughed at that. "Dying. Get it?"

"Oh, that's right," he continued when he saw her wary expression. "I haven't told you the best part yet. The one he chooses gets to live, and the other one…" He trailed off and looked at Irene coldly. "We'll see if the great Sherlock Holmes returns your affections."

"He won't choose," Molly insisted. "You don't know him. He'll do whatever he has to do to raise enough money to pay both ransoms."

Benjamin's gaze warmed when he looked at her. "I hope it's you, Molly. I really do. You're sweet enough to want Irene to live too, but she would throw you under the bus to save herself if she could. That's why I'm leveling the playing field. She won't be able to use any of her tricks to win when Sherlock gets here."

"Yes," he confirmed. "Sherlock is coming here to make his choice. There is no ransom. He's on his way to save the woman he loves. Isn't that romantic?"

Molly stayed silent as she processed this information. Benjamin apparently hadn't thought this through very well, because telling Sherlock where they were would make it easier for him to save them. The police probably already had the place surrounded.

"Your thoughts are so easy to read on your face," Benjamin told her. "The cavalry's not coming, Molly. I made it very clear to Sherlock that I would kill you both if he didn't come alone."

No matter what Benjamin said, Molly had faith that Sherlock would outwit him. She just hoped that he wouldn't resort to murder like he had with Magnusson. During the terrifying moments when Benjamin and his men had held her down and shackled her to this bed, she would have been thankful for someone to gun them down in the process of freeing her from them and the terrible things they intended to do to her. Since nothing bad had happened, she now only wanted them to go to prison for kidnapping. Irene was restrained on another bed beside her. As far as Molly knew, they hadn't molested her either. She had already been there when Molly arrived, but she was fully clothed just like Molly. Perhaps Benjamin was just bluffing about resorting to physical violence.

"Maybe he didn't even get your message," she said. "If the power's still out—"

"It's not," he informed her. "That was just a temporary distraction. I don't care about keeping London in the dark. The lights work now, but the candlelight has a more romantic ambiance. Don't you agree?"

Molly had stopped being afraid for herself and was now more concerned about Sherlock. Benjamin was obviously jealous of him. She doubted that bringing Sherlock to this house had anything to do with making a choice between her and Irene. He was probably planning to kill him. She became increasingly frustrated with her inability to do anything to help him. Why hadn't she ran the rental car off the road and fought back when she had the chance? Now she was stuck here helplessly waiting to see how the situation would end.

Benjamin's cell phone rang, and he listened for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right there."

He picked up the discarded gag from the pillow beside Molly's head. "Sorry I have to do this again, but I can't have you giving away the game." He forced the gag back into her mouth.

Molly went back to struggling uselessly against her restraints after he left the room. She could hear Irene grunting in her own desperate attempt to free herself. Neither one of them succeeded in escaping before Benjamin and his men escorted Sherlock into the room. His sharply indrawn breath proceeded the clenching of his jaw and the murderous look in his eyes.

"A reunion with your women just as I promised," Benjamin said amiably. "I'll let you catch up first. We can negotiate the terms of their release later."

As soon as he and his men left the room and shut the door, Sherlock hurried to Molly's side. He removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you okay, Molly? Did he hurt you?"

"No," she gasped. "But he hates you, Sherlock. You have to get away."

"Don't worry. I'll get you out of here," he assured her.

"You already have," Benjamin said as he entered the room.

He told one of his men to free Molly from her restraints. The other two kept their guns pointed at Sherlock. When she was loose, Benjamin instructed the one named Liam to drive her back to her car and let her go.

"Well done Sherlock," Benjamin congratulated him. "You are smarter than me, since I chose Irene. You get to live, Molly, just like I promised."

"What about Sherlock?" Molly asked anxiously. "Please just let us all go."

"That wasn't the deal. Now run along before I change my mind."

"Molly, go!" Sherlock snapped impatiently.

She saw Benjamin look at Irene in triumph as she moved past him. "Now you know who Sherlock loves. What I want to know now is if you truly love him. Are you willing to die for him, Irene?"

Molly hoped fervently that Sherlock hadn't come here alone. Why weren't Mycroft's men storming the house? She perked up when they saw the men sprawled on the floor near the front door. Liam swore and swung his gun away from Molly as he cautiously scanned the entryway. Molly took the opportunity to elbow him in the ribs. She was about to hit him again when he dropped to the floor like a dead weight. Molly stared at a very pregnant Mary who was standing there pointing a cell phone at him.

"It's a stun gun," Mary explained. "Clever design, don't you think?"

The front door swung open, and two guns appeared on either side of it before the men who were holding them peered inside. "Mary," John demanded in a loud whisper. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"The house is clear except for the room where Sherlock is. Did you get the ones outside?"

"Yes," Lestrade answered. He looked down at the men on the floor. "How did you—"

"Very powerful stun gun. They'll need to go to the hospital. How many with Sherlock, Molly?"

"Three, including Benjamin. Please, we have to hurry before he kills Sherlock."

Sally Donovan approached them from the back of the house. "Someone already…" She trailed off and narrowed her eyes at Lestrade. "You brought civilians into this? A pregnant civilian?"

"We don't have time to argue. Sherlock is in danger." Molly started toward the stairs.

"Take her to your car," John ordered Mary furiously. "If you don't hear from me in ten minutes, call the police." He walked off with Lestrade and Donovan.

"They are the police," Molly said. "Where are the rest of them?"

Mary opened the door and motioned for Molly to follow her outside. "Sherlock asked John and Greg to help him alone. He couldn't take the chance of bringing a large group with him."

"Then what are you doing here? How'd you take down those guys by yourself?"

"I took a shortcut to beat John here," Mary explained. "Taking down those guys was easy. Nobody looks more harmless than a pregnant woman." She placed a hand on her lower back and grimaced. "I didn't even have to act much. Most guys become helpless if they think a woman is going into labor. Even in their confusion about where I came from, they still didn't know how to react."

"I still think I should have gone with John," Molly worried.

"It's four against three in our favor," Mary said.

"No," Molly corrected her. "It's three of us and three of them. We're evenly matched."

"Sherlock makes it four," Mary reminded her.

Molly didn't speak her fear aloud that Sherlock might already be dead. "He's unarmed."

"Not as unarmed as you think," Mary smiled. "I gave him one from my stash when John was in the bathroom." She opened her purse to show Molly several cell phones inside. "I promised John I wouldn't carry a gun anymore, but these don't count."

It made Molly feel a little better to know that Sherlock had a weapon. They had arrived at Mary's car, but they were both too anxious to sit down. She looked at Mary again and saw how very near the end of her pregnancy she was. "You shouldn't have put yourself at risk like that. Sherlock would never ask you to do that."

"He didn't, but I owed him one. Actually more than one, because I did also shoot him. I didn't know at the time how loyal he was. I mean I did where John is concerned, but I didn't know that he would also extend that loyalty to me."

The emotion that had been missing during their last meeting was there in Mary's voice now. She was stopping short of apologizing, but her tone held regret. How would she even apologize for something like that, Molly wondered. How do you say sorry for shooting someone? "Are you trying to tell me that your loyalty extends to me too?" Molly asked.

"I miss our friendship, but I did this for Sherlock," Mary answered honestly. "I've never seen him like the way he was when he received that picture of you. He was frantic that time we were rushing to save John from the fire, but this was…" She shivered with the memory. "It was like he was one step away from going mad. He was wild, unfocused. It scared John so bad that his hands were shaking. That's when he went into the bathroom to pull it together for Sherlock. Then he talked him into calling Greg."

Mary's cell phone rang, and she pulled the car door all the way open and asked Molly to grab it for her out of the cup holder. She answered it but didn't get to say anything else before John gave her his news and hung up. "He's still pissed at me," she told Molly. Then she grinned. "Sherlock and Irene are okay."

Molly sagged against the car in relief. A moment later, they heard the sound of approaching sirens as police cars came flying up the street. They were followed by an ambulance. John came running up to the car. "Give me the bloody taser."

"I used three." Mary pulled them out of her purse and handed them to him.

"Go home," he growled.

"Nice to see you again, Molly. Glad you're okay." Mary carefully maneuvered herself into the car.

"You too," Molly said. She stood with John and watched Mary drive away.

They started walking back toward the house, and Sherlock approached them before Molly got a chance to ask any questions. "Are you okay?" The measured tone of his voice didn't match the intensity of his gaze.

"Yeah, now that I know you're alive." She wanted to throw her arms around him, but his reserved demeanor held her back. "He was going to kill you."

"I wanted to kill him, but Lestrade brought Donovan along. She'd never let me get away with it." He scowled in irritation.

"Nobody is going rogue anymore," John ranted. "We don't take unnecessary risks, none of us. Is that understood?"

Sherlock gave him an appraising look. "What's gotten into you? And why do you have three cell phones?"

"They're stun guns," Molly explained. "Mary was here."

Sherlock's neutral expression revealed no reaction to this news. "Really?"

"Oh stop pretending you didn't know about these. You got yours from her, didn't you?" John asked, already knowing the answer.

"I didn't know she had so many of them, but I was grateful to have a weapon Reynolds was likely to overlook."

"Did you have to use it?" Molly asked.

"He didn't have to," John told her. "But he did anyway. He would have kept going too, if Donovan hadn't threatened to shoot him. Two hits with one of these would probably be lethal."

"Probably," Sherlock agreed.

The two men who had been in the room with Benjamin when Molly left were now being escorted in handcuffs to the police cars. Lestrade and Donovan followed behind the other officers. More sirens were heard, and two ambulances pulled up. As Lestrade explained the situation to the paramedics and directed them into the house, Donovan approached John.

"Ignoring my advice when it pertains to your safety is one thing, but how could you bring your pregnant wife into this situation? Are you really that blind in your devotion to him?" She threw a withering glance at Sherlock.

"She was supposed to stay in the car and drive away at the first sign of trouble," John said. He obviously didn't want to admit that he'd had no idea that Mary was here. "I don't know why she followed us in."

"She didn't follow you in," Donovan said tersely. "She was inside before you, taking on the bad guys by herself. The ones at the back door were all knocked out already when I entered the house." She glared at Sherlock. "Where did you find these people? This kind of loyalty borders on insanity, and the craziest part is that they risked their lives for you. Why would they do that for a freak like you?"

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked.

"It's my job," she huffed. "Two women were kidnapped, and it's my job to rescue them. This wasn't about you. It was about them."

"You came here alone in your own car. That's not protocol, is it? You came here against your better judgment and risked your life. If it had gone wrong, Scotland Yard wouldn't have even known where you were," Sherlock announced to the shock of John and Molly.

"We couldn't chance them spotting police vehicles," Sally said defensively. "That would have put everyone in danger." She turned her keen eye on John. "Was your wife a soldier too?"

"No, but I offered to teach her some self defense techniques shortly after we met. She's been practicing them ever since."

Molly marveled at the smooth way he lied about Mary. He must have been expecting questions about her ability to subdue thugs. Of course, he couldn't tell the police that his wife used to be an assassin. Molly wasn't sure if Donovan believed his explanation.

"She must have incredible reflexes and absolutely no fear," Sally commented as she continued to study his reactions.

"You mean absolutely no sense," John exploded. "I swear she's going to be the death of me with her impulsive behavior."

"Maybe she's just following your example," Sally said. "You allow Sherlock to lead you into all sorts of dangerous situations."

"This wasn't his fault," John defended him.

"It was," Sherlock declared. "I shouldn't have left Molly alone. I suspected that Moriarty would come after her."

"But it wasn't Moriarty," Molly protested. "Benjamin was using that to fool you. Moriarty's still dead, right?"

"Wait," Sally told Sherlock. "Are you actually admitting that something is your fault?"

"The ones who are at fault are going to prison—after they go to the hospital," Lestrade said as he joined their little group. "Now, John here used the stun guns on them to help Sherlock fight Reynolds. Are we all clear on that? It's already going to be a media circus with the scorned lover competing against the great detective. We don't need to add a pregnant woman with tasers into the mix."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "It will be bad enough when they find out about Irene being a dominatrix."

"What?" Lestrade laughed. "You're having me on."

"It's true. She called herself The Woman," John informed him.

"Why can't you ever have a normal case?" Lestrade lamented. "Why do you always find the freaks?"

"Because he _is_ a freak," Sally said with relish.

"Don't start, Donovan," Lestrade warned her. "You tried to convince me that he kidnapped those kids, and you were wrong."

"You can't blame her for that," Sherlock argued. "All the evidence pointed toward me. She only did what she was trained to do."

"Are you sticking up for me?" Sally asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Did Reynolds hit you over the head with something? Do you have a concussion?"

"Thank you for helping Molly," he said sincerely.

"And Sherlock and Irene," Molly added.

Sally looked at Molly with new eyes. "Just doing my job."

Molly spotted Irene exiting the house and rushed over to her. "Are you okay?"

"The same as you, I suppose." She sighed wearily. "I'm sorry he dragged you into this too."

"It's not your fault." Molly's gaze hardened as she looked at an unconscious Benjamin being wheeled toward the ambulance. "He's going to pay for what he did."

"I didn't think there was anything similar about you and Sherlock, but I can see that I was wrong," Irene said.

The rest of the group had now joined them, and John pulled out his phone to call a cab. "I need to get home and check on Mary."

"I'll drive you," Lestrade offered. "We'll need you all to come to the station and make statements, but that can wait until tomorrow."

"I'll drive the rest of them home," Sally announced to the surprise of Sherlock and Lestrade.

"Why are you being nice?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"Am I?" Sally answered mysteriously. "I'll leave that deduction to you."

They parted ways with John and Lestrade. Irene and Molly got into the backseat of Donovan's car, leaving Sherlock to sit in front with her. "So thoughtful," she commented. "They know you need the room for your long legs. So," she continued brightly. "Where to first?"

"Could you drop me off at my hotel?" Irene enquired.

"No," Molly decided. "You can stay at my flat tonight. I have a spare bedroom."

"She's not staying with you," Sherlock said in annoyance.

"Yes, she is," Molly insisted. "Why would you have a problem with that?"

"Yeah, Sherlock. Why would you have a problem with that?" Sally questioned with barely contained glee.

"She shouldn't be alone tonight," Molly said.

Sally instantly sobered. "You're right not to want to be alone, Molly. I've worked with many victims of rape, and it's crucial to—"

"She did not get raped!" Sherlock thundered loudly as he glowered at Sally.

"We," Molly clarified. "We did not get raped." She paused and turned to look at Irene. "I mean, I don't know what happened before I got there."

"I thought he was going to let his men violate me." Irene's eyes reflected the horror she had experienced. "But he didn't," she finished in a stronger voice.

"Fortunately, he gets his jollies from mental rather than physical torture."

They all heard the menace in Sherlock's voice. Sally ignored it in favor of reaching out to Molly and Irene. "In any case, you've been through a traumatic experience. You might not feel the symptoms of post traumatic stress until the shock wears off, but don't hesitate to seek treatment for them. It's a normal response to—"

Sherlock interrupted her again. "Molly will be fine."

"Not everyone can compartmentalize their feelings the way you do," she snapped at him.

"You've always said that I don't have feelings," he reminded her.

"I've made some new deductions," she informed him without explaining further.

"Turn left at the next light," he told her.

Sherlock continued to give her directions until they arrived at Molly's building. "I'll see them in." He escorted the women up to Molly's flat.

Molly showed Irene where the spare bedroom was and directed her to the bathroom. "You can take a shower if you'd like. I'll leave a nightgown for you on the bed."

"Thank you, Molly." She took a moment to apologize to Sherlock. "I'm sorry I gave you up so easily to Benjamin. I knew he'd kill me too, but I couldn't help trying to buy myself a little more time."

"It would have made no difference if you had chosen to die," Sherlock assured her. "He would have killed me anyway. It was all just part of his sick game."

"He wanted to prove to me that I didn't love you, at least not enough to die for you."

"That's terrible," Molly exclaimed. "He thought that he loved you, but he couldn't have treated you that way if he did. He doesn't know the first thing about love."

"He knows a few things." Irene was looking at Sherlock as she spoke. "Well, it's been a long day. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Sherlock said.

Molly waited until Irene went to take a shower before saying anything else to Sherlock. "Promise me that you won't kill Benjamin."

"Why would you think—"

"Promise me," she demanded.

"He deserves to die." His jaw clenched with the anger simmering beneath the surface.

"That's not for you to decide. He'll have his day in court, and he'll go to prison. Now promise me, Sherlock. I want your word that you won't kill him."

"Fine," he said.

"Promise me!"

"Alright," he conceded. "I promise I won't kill Benjamin."

Molly felt immense relief and much of her stress evaporated. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you to stay, but it's just…" She trailed off, trying to find a way to put it into words. "It's just that Irene understands. She went through it with me, and…"

"It's okay," he soothed. "I'm glad Irene's here if she makes you feel better."

"She does in an odd way," Molly told him. "It's strange to think that I only just met her this morning. So much has happened. I don't think I've really had a chance to take it all in yet." She was talking about more than the crazy drama with Benjamin, but she was too tired to get into the rest of it at the moment.

"Yes, a lot happened in the past twenty-four hours."

She wondered if he was also referring to what had happened between them. They stood looking at each other for another minute. "Are you okay?" Molly asked. Everyone had been concerned with her and Irene, but Sherlock had also been in the thick of it.

"I couldn't think when it happened. My mind went completely blank, and I panicked."

Molly was startled by the haunted look in his eyes.

"I almost failed you, Molly."

"You didn't," she assured him. "It's okay to be scared, Sherlock. Your life was in danger, for goodness sake! Why wouldn't you be scared?"

"That's not why I was…" He trailed off and seemed to retreat from whatever he was going to say. "You're tired. I'll let you—"

His phone rang, and he answered it. Molly had also forgotten that Lestrade was waiting for him. Sherlock told him that they were fine, and that he would be right down.

"Goodnight, Molly. Call me if you need anything."

"Yes, you too. Goodnight," she replied.

She locked the door behind him and hoped that she would get a chance to ruminate on everything tomorrow. There was too much to contemplate, and she was too exhausted from her ordeal to think about it tonight. The only thing that mattered right now was that everyone had come through it okay. Morning would be soon enough to begin sorting through the actions of all those who had stood up and been counted today.

In the next instant, she was throwing open the door and running into the hallway as she shouted his name. She saw him slouching against a wall near the elevator. He quickly straightened and pushed away from it.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked in alarm.

"I needed to…I need…" She skidded to a stop in front of him, standing close and drinking in the sight of him. "You're okay? You're really okay? He was going to kill you. He was—"

Sherlock hugged her so fiercely that she could hardly breathe. She held onto him just as tightly, needing tangible proof that he was really alive.

"Molly," he mumbled into her hair. "I thought that I was going to be too late."

"It's okay now," she said. "We're okay."

He reluctantly let her go. "Rest now. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," she confirmed with the smile he had grown so fond of. "See you tomorrow."

**Notes:**

**What I claimed was a short story has now become my longest fanfic ever. I also don't usually write such long chapters. Sorry about any mistakes, since I've yet again failed to edit a chapter. Just getting it written has been a feat considering the constant interruptions from my family. I've literally been writing it in tiny bits, sometimes only a few sentences between interruptions. I also had to work overtime this week. Only a one day weekend this time. I also apologize in being so slow in answering reviews, but I truly appreciate them so much!**

**Just7364—Your wish is my command! Lol, perfect timing with me finally finishing the chapter. Thank you for all your great reviews. I would never have guessed that English isn't your native language.**

**Domitheus—Thank you for another wonderful review! I'm glad you were satisfied with the previous chapter.**

**I was going to write more in depth replies, but I'm being interrupted again! I'll be back after everyone goes to sleep.**


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